


Perfect Sacrifice

by Winterstar



Series: The Pa'chen Experiment [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Daniel whump, Dark, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Other, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel to Under Shadows Fall - What happens when someone is addicted to pain - SG1 is about to find out. This is a dark tale without much of a happy way out. You have been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

….Excerpt from Colonel Jonathan O’Neill’s email to General Hammond

It’s been seven months since Daniel disappeared, George. I can’t sit on my hands anymore. I don’t give a shit what Kinsey says or what the damn gurus at area 51 keep telling us, Daniel left because of what Mackenzie did to him. 

After our little ‘vacation’ at the Inn DeRoyale Pa’crap, Daniel never came back – not completely. You know that. Those Shadow creatures had him on the lowest rung of the Fuck you prison for weeks. They ate his mind, George, ate it. What (not Who – What) was left wasn’t Daniel. The Tok’ra memory device helped, yeah right. It just gave us back a ghost. Someone who looked like Daniel, talked like Daniel but needed a freaking master like one of those things on the planet. Daniel reached out for help; but he looked to the wrong person. Mackenzie. Great mind, that one. What he does is trade one addiction for another. Daniel might not need us as his masters now, might not look at me and have that compulsion, but now he wants pain. I said it before, I will say it again, George. That moron addicted Daniel to pain. P-A-I-N. I cannot even think about it straight anymore.

He’s been gone too long. So, I am officially requesting leave to find him and to bring Daniel home. Not some apparition, but our Daniel.........

 

His hands shake as he approaches the door. The knob is bent and dented. He grabs a hold of it and yanks. It gives way but the weight of the door presses on him and he has to give a great heave in order to swing it open. His eyes adjust to the dim light easily since he only comes out at night now, since this is where he can find relief. He walks to the wooden bar; its surface is cut and marked telling a story he does not care to hear. The bartender nods to him and asks him what he would like to drink. 

Daniel waves him off. Instead, he places two wristbands and a remote controller on the counter. “Your boss wanted these. She can have them, if we have a deal.”

The bar keep examines the item and considers him before calling over one of the waiters in the dark room. Several of the patrons look up at Daniel, their desires written plainly on their faces. He wonders if everyone can see what he needs, what he seeks as well. The bartender murmurs something to one of the waiters and then woman disappears into the back room. In moments, Daniel is beckoned to the back room. 

His heart thunders in his chest. This is his mecca, his sacred pilgrimage. A large man stands at the curtained door and pats Daniel down before he is allowed to enter. The guard ushers Daniel to a small alcove. The low lighting makes it difficult to see anything, but he can hear muffled screams from below and his palms start to sweat as he thinks of what he is embarking on, what he is promising.

“Sit,” the guard pushes him down into a chair. The smell of sweat and urine permeates the air and Daniel almost chokes at its thickness.

A woman sits across from him; her eyes are bright in the dark light. She has a beaded blouse on and a leather skirt. Her short hair is spiked up about her face and she smiles when she sees him. “Come to my cove, I see.”

He swallows and finds his mouth is dry. His ears roar and, for a moment, he considers bolting. She recognizes this and leans forward to place a hand on his knee.

“It’s safer here, sweetie. You go out on the streets looking for what you need and what do you get.” She slides a hand down his face, probing the swollen cheek. “They beat you and leave you for dead. That ain’t no way to live, is it?”

He doesn’t pull away from her touch, but is paralyzed by the fear. She reaches for the wristbands that have been deposited on her side table. “Nice bit of equipment, just ain’t doing it for you no more, huh?”

Daniel bows his head to try and hide the tears. Admitting what he needs to himself is one thing, admitting it to another, to her is dangerous and thrilling all at once. 

“I’m guessing you’re a Maso, huh?” She plays with the wristbands, dropping them from hand to hand. Stopping she looks at him and says, “Listen, I ain’t got no clue what happened to you, why you want to do this. Everyone’s got their reasons. Let’s just say around here the don’t ask, don’t tell takes on a whole new meaning. We don’t give a shit if you want someone to beat you ,burn you, whip you, whatever. We do it for you. If you get off on it, so be it. We don’t give a shit.”

He folds his hands; he needs to conceal his terror. He needs to be here.

“I take care of my own.” She smiles. It touches her eyes in an alluring way. “You got a name?”

“Nick Ballard,” Daniel says.

“No last names,” she replies. “You can call me, Mama.” 

He doesn’t remark on the oddity of it. Why he would want to call this young woman, Mama? She is barely older than him. How did she get into this business and why? He keeps his mouth closed as the sounds from the basement filter upward. The cries invite him and he has to grip the arms of the chair to keep from begging her to let him go there.

“You want to be part of the cove, that’s good.” She pats his knee again. “You got to learn some things first. It’ll take some time.” 

He glances at the door to the basement and take a breath trying to steady himself. 

“Oh, sweetie, you ain’t ready for that just yet. Mama’s gonna take care of you first. Teach you how to make sure they don’t do no real damage,” she says. 

Before he realizes it, he crosses the small space between them on his hands and knees. The thought of waiting, the fragments of need wash over him in a tidal wave. “No, no, no. The I can’t. The I can’t wait. Please.” Shame builds up in him as he realizes he has slipped, allowed that secret part of him to take hold. He grabs her knees and several of the guards converge on them. Someone has to help him; she has to help him. His nails are digging into her flesh.

She raises a hand to warn off her guards. “Oh hon, I ain’t into that.” She peels off his grip but clasps his hands. “What’d they do to you, huh?” She lays her head against him and he can smell the sweet magnolia perfume she wears. “I ain’t going to leave you high and dry.” She looks up and in a second, she presents him with a gift. “You want me to?”

He sees the flogger in her hand. It is thick leather and the color matches her skirt. He reaches out to touch it, gliding his hands along the soft leather. He’s never done this before but the wristbands aren’t working anymore. Like an alcoholic looking for a stronger hit, Daniel realizes simple electric shocks won’t help his addiction, won’t keep the thoughts away.

“You sign off as part of my cove, you got a free pass hon. I’ll teach you and you get to stay free of charge. Sads come in here, need a Maso and you provide. You tell me how far you’ll go and I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.” She cups his cheek with her hand. “Mama’ll take care of you. Now, what do you want?”

His voice feels cracked and craven as he speaks, “Whip me, please. Hurt the I.”

She smiles and says, “Good boy.”

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

…..Excerpt Janet Fraiser, M.D. personal journal

I still blame myself. I should have known better, but I did accept that Mackenzie understood the nature of addiction. He is my colleague and as such I am bound to respect him. That is just an excuse, isn’t it? What he did to Daniel, how he traded one addiction for another still preys on my mind, makes my heart ache. I gave up Daniel’s care to someone I thought was competent in the treatment of addiction. I’ve found out otherwise. During Daniel’s time in Mackenzie’s care Daniel was subjected to negative feedback therapy (i.e. self-inflicted pain treatment if displaying the addictive behavior), humiliation by the staff when Daniel showed any initiatives to recover lost memories, and punishment by his doctor when he refused to follow orders. When I think back on it, the changes in Daniel’s personality were evident after he returned from his stay at the hospital. But I was blind, as we all were, with the hope we’d finally recovered our Daniel.

I haven’t reported any of the information I’ve discovered to leadership; neither the General nor Colonel O’Neill have been updated on what happened when Daniel committed himself to the psychiatric ward under Mackenzie’s care. Now Daniel is gone, lost to us. I cannot help but blame myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have cleared him for Gate travel.

I never thought he would be ready again for Gate travel again after the failed mission to Pa’chen. Daniel was clever though, while there were signs of a change in personality, he never showed any signs of his increasing dependence on the negative feedback therapy. Even Mackenzie confessed to me that he had no idea Daniel was still using the negative feedback therapy. Daniel inflicting pain on himself daily, the thought just scares me. But the signs were there, once he returned to Gate travel – it was so clear, why didn’t I see it? The risks he took, the dangers he put himself in. I will never forgive myself...........................

 

He unlocks the door, throws the keys on the small broken table near the door and walks toward the back of the studio apartment. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, he doesn’t want to see. There is nothing to see. He opens the door to the bathroom, hitting his shin against the toilet. There is little room to stand in the bathroom and shut the door. He sheds his clothes and kicks them outside of the room. Reaching toward the faucets, Daniel switches on the hot water. He wants it to be hot, scalding hot. He needs it to be unbearably hot. He flicks his fingertips under the stream and then pulls his hand away. Hot enough. He turns the cold faucet enough so that he won’t actually burn himself. 

At least this apartment has hot water; the last one he had barely had water let alone hot water. He steps into the shower and lets the water pound on his face. It hurts but he bears it. He hasn’t turn around yet. Water covers him and he opens his mouth and thinks about breathing in, bringing the water into his lungs and dropping to the floor of the shower dead, dying alone. He is too much of a coward to do it and, so, he twists around and gasps out as the water hits the marks up and down his back. He throws a hand out to the wall to keep himself from turning around, from saving himself from the searing pain of the hot water streaming into his wounds. There are only a few, less than a dozen striations on his back. It feels like perfection. The pain echoes here; as he stands in the pounding water, as the hot water burns into his flesh. The suffering bleeds from his mouth in quiet moans, as tears mix with water. The first sting of the strap reverberates in his memory. He recalls his screams during the horrific dance of pain and pleasure, hears the words he so desires to say, so wishes to say.

He closes his eyes as he thinks on it. She had been gentle, tender but not loving. It was strange as she tied him down and told him it was for his security, his safety. The words bubbled out of his mouth as she hit him, begging for a master.

Master, master, master. 

She paid no attention to his litany. He wanted the words to go away. He curled in on himself then, humiliated that his other self, his shadow, followed him like some demented shade of Peter Pan. The strap had hit him, repeatedly with a slow rhythm until he cried out with words she could not understand. Her life was about a business. His life was about forgetting who he’d splintered into, the thing inside of him, the thing haunting him.

After she’d finished, Mama applied an ointment to his wounds, told him to rest and sent him on his way. She informed him that his rooms at the cove would be ready for him by tomorrow. He was to move in and ‘be taken care of’ for as long as he wished. He’d sold himself to her. 

His legs weaken and he stumbles in the shower as the water cascades over him. With both arms extended, Daniel tries to steady himself against the tiles. He attempts to touch the faucets to stop the deluge, but he falls to his knees. Bending over, Daniel covers his head and allows the water to pool around him. The pain is exquisite, beautiful and pure. It covers up the words, the whispers in his head.

Master, master, master.

The reverberation of the pain conceals the truth of what he has become. His logical mind rationalizes it, he’ll stop. He has to stop this behavior; he knows it is not normal, healthy. He can stop. The chant in his mind will go away; he just has to ignore it. The compulsion, the desires overwhelms him daily. Can he make it stop? 

“I can do it,” Daniel whispers. He nods, promising himself. He grasps the cold water faucet and turns it off. Only hot water pours from the shower head; it is startling as it scalds his open wounds. He crouches in the shower and, for one last moment, lets himself enjoy the pain. The pain cleanses his brain, filters out the shadows lurking there. Fumbling, Daniel concedes to the reasoning part of his psyche and he shuts off the water. He lies panting in the shower. Squeezing his eyes closed, he repeats this was his last time. He won’t do this again.

Grabbing hold of the tub, he climbs out and yanks a threadbare towel from the rack. He smooths it over his skin but does not touch his back. It is too raw, too fresh. Curiosity tugs at him and Daniel turns around to peer over his shoulder at the fogged mirror. His back is a modeled mess of redden wounds. The blisters peel open and ooze blood and serum. She’d told him to leave the ointment on for hours, to not wash it off.

His face flushes. Impossible, he thinks, it is impossible for him to even follow directions. He recalls how Mackenzie used to yell at him, screeching in his face when Daniel was tied to the bed in the hospital because he couldn’t follow orders, because he’d written a journal of his lost memories. He remembers the drugs Mackenzie injected him with to make him more compliant, to ‘assist in his therapy’. Daniel shivers and shuns the image in the mirror. 

He goes to the small closet and rummages to find some sweats and a t-shirt. He pulls them on over a torn pair of boxers, the shirt scratching his back. He looks at the boxers as he tugs on the pants. Torn, faded. What happened to all of his clothes? What happened to who he was?

Surveying the small apartment, Daniel covers his face with his hands. What has he done? Who has he become? He shakes his head; he’s done. He isn’t going to do this anymore. He should call for help. There has to be some help. He crosses the apartment in less than a dozen strides, scoops up some change, and opens the door, leaving it unlocked. He goes to the solitary pay phone in the hallway and drops the coins in the slot. He dials the number and waits.

It rings four times. “This is Jack O’Neill, you know what to do. Catch you later.”

Frozen, Daniel says nothing. He listens to the dead silence until the machine beeps at him again. With deliberate care, he hangs up the phone. Maybe nobody cares; maybe he is alone in this world. He berates himself for being maudlin. 

He leaves the phone and returns to his apartment. Usually, as the sun is rising, Daniel would plan his day. When he would use the wrist bands to experience the intense electric shock therapy, how long, how many treatments it would take to induce a seizure. The seizures helped; they made him forget. But he doesn’t have the wristbands anymore; he bought his way into a den of – of what? 

He stops; he isn’t like those people, those lost souls sitting in the dark, in the bar awaiting their turn in the basement. No, he can handle this alone. He’ll call Mama; tell her it was all a mistake. He goes to the little kitchenette in his apartment, opens the tiny refrigerator and searches for something to drink. There is little food there. Well, if he is going to join the land of the living again he would need to go shopping. Right, that’s good, he tells himself. Make a list. How much money does he have left?

He’d plan methodically during the month before he left the SGC. Withdrawing enough cash over a number of weeks, selling items, he reorganized his life to escape Colorado Springs without a trail. Yet, little more than seven months later he had less than a few hundred dollars left. If he tries to access his accounts, he knows that they will find him. Maybe it is time to go home. Maybe he has fallen too far? He dismisses this idea.

He sets the coffee pot up and uses the old grounds again. When he drinks the bitter coffee, Daniel cringes. Maybe it is time to reconsider. 

“I can do this,” he says. He sips the hot drink and sits in the one cushioned chair he owns. He has no television or computer. The daylight seeps in like a thief through the window. He leans back and the pain shocks him. He doesn’t sit forward; he pushes into it. His hand trembles; the coffee spatters over his thigh and he hisses as he burns himself. The compulsion to pour the rest of the coffee down his abused back rips through him. He grabs hold of the cup with both hands and refuses to move. 

They won’t understand, he thinks of his team. They didn’t understand then, how could they understand now? He cannot go back. 

The coffee is sloshing in his mug. He jumps up and sets it on the table. He needs to use the wristbands. 

“Damn it,” he states as he paces. He punches at the wall, his knuckles impact with bruising force and he cries out. Cradling his hand to his chest, Daniel rocks as his breathes come in short gasps. “She has them, she has them.” 

He swings open the door again and with another fist full of change goes to the pay phone again. He deposits the money in the slot and dials the number. 

“Coconut Cove Bar; what can we do ya for?” The voice is distant and odd.

“Mama,” Daniel stutters. “Can I speak to Mama?”

“Who’s this?” The reply is gruff and short.

“Da-Nick. Nick, I saw her last night.” Daniel twists the cable to the headset. The line goes dead and, for a wild minute, Daniel thinks they’ve hung up on him.

“Nick, sweetie, how you doing?”

He cannot speak; the words are breaking into fine particles like shards in his throat. 

“Oh sweetie, I’ll get Buddy to come over and get you. You ain’t going to make it until tonight, huh?”

He manages a quiet ‘no’.

“We’re gonna be right there, you just give me the address. Can you do that, sweetie?” Her tones sing to him.

Daniel croaks out the words; he feels like he is choking. 

“Now, I want you to go and sit quiet-like, okay? Can you do that for me?” she whispers into the phone. “I want you to sit quiet like and don’t do nothing. If you do that for me, I’ll help you out when you get here. I’ll make sure you get what you need, ‘kay, hon?”

“Okay, yes, sure.” Daniel rubs at his eyes. His glasses were broken in the last bar fight he picked. During the struggle, the one thug smashed his cheek and his glasses shattered.   
“Good, good,” she says. “Buddy’s coming now.”

“Okay,” Daniel mumbles in the phone. Fear rises and air vacates his lungs. “What-what are you going-going to do?”

“To you, sweetie?”

Daniel nods, knowing she cannot see him through the old phone line.

“I’m gonna hurt you, hon, just like you want.”

He wants to cry; he wants to hold onto something, someone. He knows there is no one here, not like the storage closest all those years ago. 

“Is that what you want, hon?”

Again, Daniel nods but this time he adds, “Yes, please.” 

“Anything you need, sweetie, anything you need.”

He closes his eyes and thinks, Master, master, master.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

….Excerpt Jack O’Neill’s personal log

Okay, normally I’m not one to write a freaking diary or journal- those are for teenaged girls looking for their first lay or for science geeks like the kids on my team – so let’s just call this a log. I decided to start writing down the details of my search for Daniel to help me figure out all the facts. There aren’t many, Daniel did a good job hiding his trail. 

Starting at the beginning, Daniel withdrew a ton of money during the last month he was still at the SGC. He also subleased his apartment. I started there, but the renter only has to deposit money into an account with a management company. The management company has a bunch of regulations about privacy, etc. Even the full might of the SGC and US government didn’t do me much good getting into their records. Once I did, well, the trail died up. Daniel made sure the management company just deposited the money less a fee into his normal bank accounts. Nothing else. In the end I did a nice little circle there, trying to find him.

My next stop was his car. With some help from Carter, I was able to find out that he sold his car about one week before he up and disappeared. That was about the same time I gave him the dressing down. Maybe that was the final straw; maybe he just couldn’t take it anymore. Daniel never could follow orders, no matter how many times I went over chain of command and I don’t give a rat’s ass if he happens to be civilian, he is still under my command. We went on a mission that was supposed to be a cake walk after all he’d been through on Pa’crap, this was one of those easy missions. Lots of trees, even beaches and friendly, friendly villagers. Until Daniel gets a whiff of some ancient ritual. An ancient ritual the natives are dying for someone to partake in to appease some unknown entity. Been there, done that – but no Daniel cannot get enough of this crap. He ends up volunteering to be a participant. The natives assured me it would be fine, good, no problems, right. It is just a ritual without real consequences. Sure it was. It was until Daniel (who’d figured out some missing pieces of the ancient text the natives hadn’t known about) went ahead and actually completed the ritual. Christ, I thought we’d lost him.

Off topic there, but he sold his car as soon as Janet let him out of the infirmary. With a little detective work, Carter was able to hunt down the person who registered it at the motor vehicle department. Surprise, surprise, when Jacob Schmidt didn’t have enough dough to pay for the car in one installment, Daniel allowed him to make three payments – wired to him. Finally a trail! ...................................................

 

Admittedly, the trail isn’t very fresh and it is one we went down before. We knew about this Schmidt guy before, though he never confessed the whole story until under a bit of duress. Thank you, T-man. Seems Daniel made his way across country, heading east – so that is where I am going.

He curls into a ball in the corner of a basement playroom in Mama’s cove, his head down and under his arm. The swings of the riding crop are worse that he imagined. The pain streaks through his brain, sears through his nerves like raw electricity, yet it isn’t enough. Standing over him, the bear of a man pants with each blow of the crop. He calls Daniel names, kicks him then drops the crop and drags Daniel out of the corner of the room. Daniel stumbles as he tries to get his feet out from under him, tries to find some purchase. But the man is resilient and persistent in his actions. He tosses Daniel to the floor and takes the heel of his boot to dig it into the open sores lining his back. Daniel cringes in response, his safe word bubbling up to his lips yet he does not even whisper it. Instead, he turns on the man – his client – and insults him, goading him. Daniel knows this man’s weakness; why he comes here for release, a release he cannot achieve in the outside world.

“Your impotence includes your lack of creativity,” he hurls the words like daggers. 

In a riled frenzy the man launches himself at Daniel, the rough hands encircle Daniel’s throat as he slams Daniel’s head against the concrete floor. His client’s fingers clamp on to his trachea with crushing force. The lights in the room dim and fade as the air released from his lungs cannot be replaced.

His diaphragm hitches in a battle to pull oxygen into his starving lungs. He flings his arms wide, refusing to defend himself as he fists his hands, his legs bend and writhe. Daniel is fighting himself, forcing himself not to yank the man off. He is almost there, almost drifting. The promise of unconsciousness lurks; the haven of a black out welcomes him. The words plague his head but the ghosts disintegrate and he surrenders to the oblivion where the desire, the need cannot follow him. Yet, as he bathes in the last breath of his life, someone wrestles above him, hauling his client away from him. His airway freed, Daniel coughs and sputters a new breath. He gasps and reaches out. A hand grabs his arm and someone slaps his face.

Blinking, he focuses on Mama’s face. The sweet pixie like face contorts into a scowl reminding him of the looks his academic colleagues once gave him. She speaks, “You son of a bitch, I ain’t got time for someone who ain’t going to follow the rules.”

His voice rebels; no sound issues from his abused throat.

She peers over her shoulder at Daniel’s client. The man is sweating, his arms and legs vibrating with the need to pulverize Daniel. “Get him outta here, Buddy.” 

Her assistant doesn’t reply but hauls the man out of the small playroom to leave Daniel alone with Mama. As soon as they leave, the small woman stands up over Daniel, pulls a cigarette from the back pocket of her form fitting jeans along with a lighter. She pops a cigarette in her mouth much like one would put in a stick of gum. Tilting her head she lights the cigarette, then closes the flame. She takes in a long drag of the stick and blows the smoke up into the ventilation shaft.

“You know, Nicky, I ain’t got no use for a Maso who only wants to be beat.” She crosses the room and sits down on the small wooden bench. “Mostly, you see, I’m a pimp and my girls and guys provide more than just a punching bag. You’re a special case; I made an exception for you.” She inhales deeply and holds the smoke until she can’t handle it anymore then breathes out slowly letting the smoke linger around her. “You don’t get off on it; don’t want a beating for kinky sex. I get that, well, really I don’t. But like I said when you first came here two weeks ago, I ain’t asking no questions.”

The words float in the air above Daniel. The pain throbs across his flesh, over his back as it crescendos within the very bones of his ribs. He settles into the waves of it, allowing it to wash away the whispers in his head. He doesn’t much care what she says, or what she lectures on. The bliss is narcotic to him; for once he does not feel guilty. He has cut off his rational mind and allowed only this to exist – his pain filled world.

“You ain’t even listening,” Mama says. “How bout I just cut you off?” 

This startles him, he opens his eyes but has nothing to say. He is ready to beg, to crawl to her like a heroin addict looking for his next hit. The thought twists his stomach and he has to bite back bile. He works minute by minute to ignore what he has become. He shuns the thoughts that pepper him, how he should quit, how he should leave. It will get better.

“Finally, scare ya, huh?” She takes another puff and then gestures for him to come and join her. 

Words war in his head, scream at him to escape, run while he can. Yet the shadow waits for him to leave. Without her, he knows it will win. He has no other choice; it is the only way to keep his sanity, to keep it away.

He sits next to her. She is finely dressed in a silk blouse and dark navy jeans with rhinestones decorating the pockets. Her nails are perfection and her short hair glimmers with strands of purple and silver. The only thing he wears is his boxers; it is the only article of clothing he is allowed in the playroom. 

She gives a chuckle as she admires the spectacular bruising appearing over his ribs and back. “He beat you real good today?”

Daniel nods, but he hates to admit it or share it with anyone. He doesn’t want intimacy, he wants to forget; he wants to escape.

She crosses her long legs; she wears black heels with red accents. “Listen, you go and cross the line like that again, not using your safe word, I’m gonna have to kick you out. I got a few clients like the mister there, who just come here to get off on the beating. They ain’t in it for the sex either, like you.” She pats his knee. “I only got a few of them and I can’t have them coming here to kill someone. You get dead here, the cops will be swarming all over the place. Only reason they ain’t now is that I got a judge who likes to play, too. He won’t be happy if I end up with a corpse.”

Daniel wants her to stop talking, he wants to sink into the pain reverberating through his nerves and muscles, wants to feel the sting in his skin again. The pain is like a blast furnace it burns out everything else, it casts the shadow aside.

Mama leans into his shoulder and he hisses as it jars his bruised ribs. “Play nice, ‘kay? I give my girls and guys what they need, everything. A safe place, good clients, food, play time. Whatever you need. Use your safe word, don’t go letting it get that far again.”

She waits for him to acknowledge her orders. As an incentive, she holds up the burning cigarette. He eyes it, then nods and she extinguishes it by screwing it into the tender skin under his jaw. He clenches his teeth as tears wet his eyes.

Buddy walks into the room as Mama finishes. She says, “Take him back to his room. Make sure he’s cleaned up, treated. You know the deal.”

Buddy gives a low growl at Daniel as he hoists him up with a hand under his arm. Daniel stumbles only once as he gains his feet. As they are about to exit the room, Mama stops them.

“Oh and Buddy, after he’s all fed and all, make sure he’s restricted.”

Restricted. Daniel throws himself at her, staggering as Buddy grabs for him. “No, no.” His voice is raw and edged. He reaches out to grasp her but Buddy is already locking both of his arms behind his back. “You can’t, you don’t understand. I can’t. It will get me. Please, Mama, please.”

“Twenty four hours, Buddy, and if he misbehaves thirty six.” Mama walks past them yet her gaze lingers on his abused back. He struggles against Buddy’s hold. She rakes her nails down his oozing striations. “Learn the rules and this won’t happen again.”

Once Mama leaves, Daniel spins around and punches at the man’s face. Buddy seizes his wrist and shoves him up against the door frame. “Be a good boy, or I’ll make sure it’s forty-eight hours, perv.”

The next hour moves in a blur to Daniel. He showers, dresses and eats. He keeps his eyes from focusing on anything. Restricted. He gives a small low moan. Mama restricted him the first week he was under her care as punishment. It was only for twelve hours. 

Twenty four hours.

Restricted.

He shivers. He knows the shadows are coming; there will be no way for him to keep them at bay. His mind races; will the beating he endured today help him survive until tomorrow or will the I have him? 

Even as Buddy latches the bindings on his wrists and ankles, Daniel realizes he has already lost. The words tumble out of his mouth ; his teeth feel broken like gravel in his mouth. He recoils as the shadows are liberated from his tenuous hold. “The I thanks the Mama, tell Mama, the I thanks her.”


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

…..Excerpt Major Samantha Carter’s lab notebook

Analysis: Doctor Ana Dupree’s laptop computer  
Files: P6Q-226: Pa’chen

I discovered when Teal’c brought Ana’s body back to the base he also retrieved her effects and brought them back as well. The inventory included (other than personal effects): laptop computer, field notebook, various archeological tools, tape recorder, video camera, etc. The laptop had been previously analyzed by the IT department and found to have several files on P6Q-226 but the information collected was deemed to be of very little value. I am not sure that Daniel ever reviewed the files after his return to SGC.

Our search to understand the nature of Daniel’s continuing illness and disappearance makes each piece of evidence vitally important. After a thorough review of her files, I’ve uncovered several files which were passcode protected. It took some time to break the codes since they were complicated. I have a feeling if Daniel had been here to help it would have been easier, considering the codes turned out to be dates of the Chinese dynasties. The most important files I’ve reviewed thus far are as follows:

File Name: Pa’chen Lab – DL5  
This download was one in a series of files that included information from the Nirriti database. I hadn’t realized Ana downloaded anything from the computers there. I didn’t think any of us knew she took the time to do this before informing the SGC of the existence of the lab. Ana hid the files and the IT department missed it entirely. 

To quote directly from the files- ‘While the genetic manipulations of this population have been successful there have been several issues that were unpredictable at the time of conception of this project. First was the Missing Twin Syndrome or MTS. Occasionally, the twin is lost in utero and therefore either the Lay or the Shadow (the vernacular terms) is lost. This leads to a very unstable infant. The infant should be terminated immediately and should not be permitted to grow to adulthood. If adulthood is attained, the singleton will be condemned to a life of madness and could contaminate the entire neural network I have worked so hard to attain. The second outcome was the Lost of Twin Syndrome or LTS. This is a condition where during the different stages of life, one of the twins is lost to death. At any stage, LTS must be taken care of swiftly. To leave an unconnected Lay or Shadow as an adult is to introduce a madness strain within the entire network as well.’ 

Further investigation into the construction of the genetic manipulations has revealed that Nirriti may have used a retrovirus to introduce genetic information (segments of genetic material) into the germline genome of the Pa’chen population. Therefore this would lead to modifying the core of the DNA, leading to basic changes in the definition of human on Pa’chen. The question remains is this; how Nirriti achieved such a broad alteration of the population. And if there was viral RNA used, is it possible that it was infectious at some level?..............................................

 

 

He sits staring out the window. The room is situated in the corner of the building. Daniel occupies the smallest room of the cove, but it has a window and for that he is grateful. From his vantage point he watches roof top patios and parties. He glimpses birds flittering across the sky and snuggling into their nests. He feels old inside like his bones are ash as he gazes out the narrow windows. He wonders why he does keep going, why he doesn’t just let it end. 

The day is closing, the light fades over the rooftops and the strings of lights glitter in harmony with the street lights. The parties will soon begin. He rocks once in his stationary chair. His hands start to sweat and he rubs them down his jeans. It is almost time for a client. His stomach flips and he holds back the bile. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he bites down on the soft heel of his palm as he tries to muffle the scream. He rocks again and closes his eyes. He reminds himself he needs this, he cannot let the shadow, the other part of him take over. His teeth clamp down and he tastes blood. He settles back in the chair, relaxing into the pain. A drip of blood coats his tongue and slides down his throat. It washes away the other, the shadow. 

A knock pounds on his door as one of Mama’s crew informs him that his client is scheduled for arrival in fifteen minutes. He inhales and releases his hand. There are several older teeth marks scarring his skin. He climbs to his feet; his hands shake as he unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall off. He is already shirtless. There is no air conditioning in the attic room, just heat. He steps out of the jeans. His feet are already bare. Walking toward the door, Daniel wavers and he has to catch himself before he topples over. He glances at the food left on the side table next to his single bed. It is untouched. His appetite has left him. He only eats when Mama threatens him with restriction. He ate yesterday, yesterday is enough to satisfy her. 

The door swings open and Mama stands there with a smile that cuts her face like a scythe. Her breasts are tightly bound in a leather halter top and she wears a short mini shirt to match it. Knee high boots complete the ensemble. She looks her part. 

“Lucky, lucky you, sweetie.” She gives him another grin, one that reminds him of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. He wonders if he is in some depraved version of Wonderland. “My judge, he requested you. Ain’t you just lucky.”

“No, I thought,” Daniel doesn’t know how to start or where to start. “I can’t.”

“Oh you gotta, I promised him. Little professor boy being bad in his court. He wants you to talk back and all using all your pretty ass language.” Mama touches his arm. “You know I take good care of you. I already told him you ain’t going to put out. He just needs to give a boy a good beating. He ain’t going to ask for anything more. Now, you ready for it?” She scrapes her nails down his chest, catching a bruise and pressing it. 

He only nods. He doesn’t have a choice, the shadow lurks. As she leads him to the basement, Mama discusses the particular needs of his client. Daniel gives the obligatory, yes ma’am when appropriate. He splinters as he follows her, the shadow gaining strength with each stride. She has controlled his pain play for several days while not restricting him. The first day she found him digging a fork into his wrist, she forced him to eat with his hands. He knows she is testing his boundaries. But his fortifications are so weak, crumbling around him; Daniel knows she will be able to control him soon. He will need to escape before then, he thinks. Once she demolishes his defenses, it will not matter if the shadow takes him; there will be none of Daniel Jackson left. 

He hears a few cries as they entered the basement rooms. He has learned to ignore the sobs, the weeping, the screams. It is all part of the business. She opens the door to one of the large playrooms. As he enters, she whispers to him, “You do good here, you earn a free day. Whatever you want, baby. Understand? Mama gonna give you whatever you want.” She caresses the side of his face and then kisses the air. Giving him a wink, she pushes him into the room.

The door creaks closed behind him. The room is the first of all the rooms he has been in that looks like an actual dungeon. There are implements he cannot define hanging on the gray concrete walls. Only a small rectangular bench in the room offers a place to sit with any comfort. There is the usual fare of instruments: handcuffs, whips, chains, riding crops, and other more grotesque tools. His mind fascinates at the sleek crafted curve of the tools, of the promises they possess. 

Daniel cups his head in his hands and gives a low growl. He wants the sounds in his head to go away. He wants to banish the nightmare and for a moment, he considers the possibilities in this room. Maybe Daniel Jackson never returned from Pa’chen, maybe he was lost in the Ja’jin prison. His hands tremble and he gathers his strength as he hears muted conversation outside the door. His client is coming. 

He falls to the floor and bends his legs and bows his head. He does not think he can do this; he lifts his head to look at the room again. He feels the throb of his heart through his chest against his curled legs. There is no choice, he thinks. Daniel shivers as his pounding heart roars in his ears to drown out the voices in the hall. It does not muffle the sounds plaguing him, the sounds taunting him from his own mind. It has been too many hours, too many minutes since the pain has been there to stop him from falling into shadow. He scrubs at his head, tugging at it. A few strands pull free and it stings his eyes. The pain is not strong enough. 

The door opens and a man walks into the room. Daniel is reminded of a professor he had in graduate school. The man wears glasses and a tweed jacket. He takes a look at Daniel over his glasses, gauging him. An urge draws Daniel toward the judge; he crawls crab-like across the floor to his client. He forces down the need to call him master, the need to refer to himself as the I. He rises to his full height and meets the man’s gaze. Though the man is at least four inches shorter than Daniel, there is something sinister in his eyes. He looks dead inside, and Daniel wonders if he will be able to smell the stench of decay about the man. 

“You’re courtroom has no integrity,” Daniel spits out. He needs to play the part. “You aspire to understand the Constitution as a federal judge, but your comprehension of the articles and its basis in the Federalist papers is appalling.”

The judge wanders over to the wall and pulls off a chain. Daniel takes a step back, terror tightening his throat. He finds it hard to breath. He has never suffered the chain. Before Daniel can adjust to the idea of the chain, the links of hard metal; the judge advances on him and whips the length of it across his chest. He stumbles backward, his flesh tears from the links and he tumbles to the floor. He torments Daniel by accusing him of being in contempt of court. His tirade expands and Daniel suspects he is reliving some of his cases.

The chain flings again and catches Daniel’s ankles. He cries out, trying to get away. Within seconds, the chain hits him another five times across his body as the judge orders him not to move that he is under custody of the court. He knows he should continue to play the part, but the shock of pain, its lightning force chokes the words in his throat and he cannot speak. The explosion of pain throughout his body, in his legs and across his arms startles him and the shadow dissipates as the pain glares in fire white light.

In moments, it is over and the judge steps off to the side. Daniel cannot tell what he is doing, why he has stopped. He holds off from peering toward his client. He knows the man is standing near the bench. Suddenly Daniel hears the drop of his pants and the toss of his shirt. He glances up at the man; he folds his clothes neatly on the bench. He remains in his undershorts and goes to the wall again. He picks out handcuffs, and a ball gag. 

Struggling to sit up, the pain in his hip screams at him. Daniel says, “Sir, Mama should have told you, I don’t use cuffs or a gag.” He leans on his outstretched arm, the ache burns. There is blood smeared over his chest and ankles. 

“You’ll do as I say, boy,” the judge says and commands, “Get over here.” He points to floor in front of him.

Daniel says, “No.”

The judge turns to the wall and removes a cat of nine tails. Unable to scramble to his feet, Daniel is caught by the pronged whip as it rakes into his skin. It grabs at him, ripping away flesh and Daniel collapses backward. The claws eat into his abdomen and across his chest. He is whipped over and again. He loses count. As his client finishes, he pants and sweats. The smell gags Daniel as the pain causes him to retch. He blinks his eyes a few times, trying to clear the tears. His throat feels hollow and he realizes he has been screeching. 

In the pause, Daniel rolls to his side and tries to protect his chest and abdomen. The blood puddles under him. He cannot hear or see anything the pain has devoured everything around him. The judge approaches him and fiddles with Daniel’s hands and he recognizes cuffs being placed on his wrists. He gives a broken scuffle to stop him. His client slaps him in the face; it stings and Daniel shakes it away.

“No, no,” he says.

“Shut up,” the judge slaps him again, then pulls back and punches him in the right eye. Daniel’s face feels like the bones are softening. He tries to shove the ball between Daniel’s clenched teeth. Daniel clubs out with his bound hands at the man. He misses but the judge staggers backward and falls off of his hunches. Daniel takes the moment to make it to his hands and knees. Again the judge punches Daniel but this time in his kidney and he cries out and collapses to clip his chin on the cold concrete floor. 

Daniel feels a tug on his waist band and he kicks with his legs. “No, no. I don’t do that. I don’t.” 

The judge stands, grabs for the chain again and gives a hit to Daniel’s back. “Stay still, boy.” 

The pain paralyzes Daniel and it smothers the encroaching shadows. He lies for a moment, allowing the pain to fester. He luxuriates in the intensifying agony. He is dragged back as the judge tugs at his waist band again. 

“You are going to put out, boy, I don’t come here for just the fun of it.”

“No,” Daniel says. The thought of it, of spiraling down horrifies him and energizes him at the same time. He pushes himself up against the pain. As he swings his bound hands at the judge Daniel shrieks. His fists collide with the man’s jaw, then his cheek. He doesn’t stop until he notices the cuffs have broken and one cuff slips off his wrist. He holds onto the judge and starts to pound his fist over and again into the man’s face. “I don’t do that.”

Hands wrestle him away from the judge. Buddy grabs him and shoves him away from his client. Mama enters the room; her expression is made of stone. “Getty, come on help out the judge here.” 

A young woman who is nearly nude walks into the room and helps the judge to his feet. “Get him something to drink, take good care of him, huh, Getty.”

Getty nods and ushers the judge out of the room.

Mama turns to Daniel. His knees give out and he drops to the floor. He knows she is going to punish him. He knows restriction for hours, days is in his future. He wonders if it is worth it, should he have acquiesced. He will lose himself to the shadow; what does it matter if he keeps his integrity?

“Get him out of here,” Mama says. “I don’t want to see him again.” 

“No,” Daniel says as Buddy grapples to stand him up. 

“I gave you a chance, I gave you the best,” Mama sneers at him. “Get the fuck out of my face.”

Buddy strong arms him out of the basement playroom. He is jostled up the stairs and thrust into the hallway. He begs and pleads with her. She shakes her head and walks away from him without further word. Buddy opens the back door to the cove and propels him through it. 

Daniel stands alone in the alley way. The steel door is marked and dented, but Daniel is sure there will be no way to get back into the cove. He would have to enter through the front door. She will never allow him back. 

He has nothing.  
He has no money, no clothes.

He turns and walks into the shadows of the alley. The darkness encompasses him. Even as the perfect ache of pain recedes, Daniel knows the whispers are following him. Waiting. Waiting for the pain to diminish. 

He has nothing. 

Not even time.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

……Excerpt from an email from Teal’c to Major Samantha Carter

As noted O’Neill and I engaged in a lengthy review of many different surveillance tapes of major transportation hubs around Colorado Springs. General Hammond has been most helpful in securing these tapes from the various sources. We spent days viewing these tapes which may or may not be a microcosm of your society. It is most interesting the differences in the clientele at the airport as compared to the bus station. O’Neill has a variety of thoughts on each person and their possible stories. It is a wonder he never became a writer of fictional books. After these monotonous days, we finally chanced upon a figure that we believe may have been Daniel Jackson. With your assistance, we have been able to enhance and manipulate the photograph. From the data received and some specifically placed questions asked, we believe Daniel Jackson has taken a bus with a final destination in the Eastern portion of your country. O’Neill will continue his search there and asks that we continue our investigation of Daniel Jackson’s accounts..............................................

 

Within the corner of a dead end alleyway, he lies. His hands are fisted into tight balls as he listens to the promises of the other, the shadow within his head. He wraps a stained coat he found around him, his arms slip around it as he tries to keep the wind out. The first night he had no clothes but the mission he stopped at treated his wounds and gave him pants and a shirt. The shoes were too small. His shirt was ripped the second night when he was mugged for nothing. He has no shoes now; his feet are not cold, but the rain does not stop. He finds shelter in a wrecked dumpster in the alleyway. The rain pelting the metal sides of the partially crushed dumpster does not keep out the echoes in his brain.

The Shadow waits.

He wonders if he is I or if he is the I. The Shadow tells him, whispers words of comfort, worms its way through his fragile hold. He holds the top to a can in his hand. He is sure it was once a top to a can of soup. He thinks he recognizes the writing on the top, but he cannot focus on it. Taking the jagged edge, Daniel presses it to his wrist to slice the flesh open. He grunts and looks away as blood breaks free. Not deep, not deep enough to harm him, but it brings a short hit and he sighs as the pain opens up with the wound. It isn’t enough. The Shadow laughs at him. 

Its voice explodes in his head. “The I will save you; the I will take care of you.”

He realizes the words have solidified, become real as he speaks them. Glancing down at the red stained top, Daniel considers running it up the length of his arm. What should he avoid? How deep can he go? 

The wounds from his last client fade; they lasted him days, kept the Shadow away. It no longer lurks and hides but pushes forward with each day as the strain of the beating disappears. The volunteers at the city mission wanted him to go to the urgent care; he refused. They relented and helped him, making him promise to stay the night. He slipped out before first light. It has been over a week since he was kicked out of the cove. He hasn’t ventured far; he has nowhere to go. Panhandling has produced little when he is stuck in a rundown part of the city. He considers whether or not he should call home.

“The I has no home,” it whispers to him. “The I will take care of you.”

He digs a nail into the strip of blood, letting tears come to his eyes before he releases his hold. The idea floats up to the surface like a long lost bottle in the ocean. It bobs there with a promise of what it is captured inside. 

The voice grows louder as he thinks about the idea, as he watches the message contained through the glass. “You be the master, the I will take you as the master.”

“No, no, no,” he murmurs to it. “Go away.” What else does he have in his twisted dumpster to use? He notices a glint of silver and digs through the rubbish to yank out a dog’s choke collar. It has prongs, long and thin, along its length. Surely, it would hurt, if he did it tight enough. If he sliced open his skin and slipped it on, the prongs would dig into the virgin flesh and tear it enough to keep the Shadow at bay. He gages its length and realizes it is too small to go around his leg. He will need to wear it around his neck or his arm.

“No, the I will take care of you. No, master, the I is here, the I doesn’t need the pain. The I will set you free, master.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Daniel curses. He takes the edge of the metal top and makes short cuts into his throat. His hands are shaking and he knows not to hit his arteries but he doesn’t care. It takes some doing to figure out how to slip the dog collar on and close it. He constricts it just enough that it digs into his skin, allowing the pain to surge but not it completely cut off his airway.

He rests as the Shadow mourns. “No, no, the I cannot take the pain. The I does not like the pain.”

He laughs a little as the Shadow’s whispers fade and he is left with the ache around his neck. When the Shadow diminishes, Daniel thinks it might be good to try and look for some food. The city mission is probably crowded with the rain, but he hasn’t eaten in days. He gives a short tug to the dog collar, coming close to asphyxiation as he dares and then crawls out of the metal container. He tugs up the collar of his old coat and closed the catch at the top. Perhaps no one will see his little secret. 

Hunched over, Daniel exits the alley way and starts down the darkened street. The street lamps glitter in the rain but it is still hard to see in the storm. It is only seconds before Daniel is soaked through. He sticks his hands in his pockets and makes his way through the darkened street. He wishes he had shoes, the trash strewn over the streets pierces his soles. He wonders if this was meant to be, a kind of cosmic kismet. So many years ago before Catherine Langford drove into his life he was penniless, jobless with only his broken suitcase as he stood out in the rain. He supposes this was how it should have happened, though he never quite imagined the reason why he would be indigent. 

“The I would help you, the I could help the master,” the Shadow whispers from the corner.

“Shut up,” Daniel hisses and tugs on the collar. He chokes a bit as it cuts into his throat. He digs into his pocket and realizes he has a few dollars left from panhandling the other day. He closes his eyes and tries not to remember the sinking feeling that overwhelmed him when he asked the woman who walked down these streets for a few dollars. She looked like Sam; and she had a heart like Sam. She’d nearly said no, but somehow something in his eyes stopped her and she pulled out cash and stuffed it into his hand. She gave him a sad look when she departed. He has five dollars and some change left over.

Some change. 

He considers the coins in his hands, rolls them over his knuckles in a trick his grandfather once taught him. He stops and stares ahead. It is the only public phone he knows of for blocks and it is right in front of him as if it has dropped out of the sky from some bizarre Doctor Who episode. He walks a few steps to it and halts, his hand stretched to pick up the receiver. What would he say? How could he say it?

Jack, come save me, I’m shit ass crazy again. 

Jack, you won’t believe this one, I’m living on the streets because I’m a fucking lunatic.

He stumbles away from the phone for a moment. All bravado lost as he thinks about Jack’s reaction; how he has been such a let down. He has disappointed everyone.

“The I will protect you, you don’t need anyone, master. The I is here for you,” the Shadow promises.

He shrugs off the nightmare and grabs for the receiver. He forces down the coins, ignoring the words of his nemesis. He can’t see as he tries to push the buttons on the phone; his hands are shaking. He has to get through, he needs to get through.

The phone rings, once, twice, three times.

“Yo,” Jack says.

At first, he says nothing. He listens to Jack’s breathing, to what his life used to be as it seems to blow through the line with the air.

“Hello?” Jack asks.

As he is about to speak, someone jerks his arm, the receiver falls from his hand as he is spun around. He is confronted by three of the local gang members. He tries to push them away but the largest one seizes his arm and twists it.

“All your cash now, freak.”

“Okay, okay,” Daniel says. He digs in his pockets; he doesn’t care. He stuffs what is left of his cash into the largest one’s waiting hand. Turning, he grabs for the dangling receiver but he is stopped in mid-action when the gang member throws the few dollars into the puddles.

“What the hell? Five fucking dollars, you bastard.” The thug slams a fist at Daniel, but he ducks and makes to escape. One of the other two sticks out a quick booted foot and catches Daniel in the mid-section leaving him grasping for air. 

He staggers to the ground; all thoughts of the phone gone. A swift kick to his abdomen has him coughing and choking all at once. The lead gang member jumps on top of him and swings a fist at Daniel’s face. He throws out his arm to shield his face and catches his assailant in the throat with his fist. The gang member sputters and lurches away, heaving. Daniel grapples to his feet, intent on escape but the two remaining thugs block his path. He considers turning around, going back to the twisted dumpster he now calls home.   
“You wanna fight?” One of the two says. “You got it. Think you can take us on?” 

They circle him and the third one, now recovered, joins their taunting. He throws a side kick to the lead member in hopes that he is now the weakest due to his injury. He takes a step back as the kick clips his leg. The other two leap at him in unison. With a precision that Jack would have been proud off, Daniel swats at them. His fists go for the most vulnerable areas, throat, jaw, abdomen. He doesn’t try to just maim, he tries to kill. In the scuffle, one of them rips open his coat to reveal the dog collar. In seconds, he knows he’s made a fatal mistake.

He tries to protect his throat, but it is impossible. All three converge on him at once. He doesn’t know which one seizes the collar’s hanging loop. The only thing he knows is how he falls to his knees, his hands clawing at his own throat as the rain pounds into his eyes blinding him to his assailant. The noose tightens around his throat and his fingers slip and cannot find purchase. The pressure explodes and flashes of red and brilliant white light surround him. In seconds, he will be dead but as the world contracts with the constriction of his airway, the Shadow disappears entirely. For once he is free. He concedes and lets his hands drop away, lets them increase their hold on his life. 

He does not hear his savior, doesn’t know who steps in and yanks the gang member away. He collapses to the ground, the run of puddles streams around him. He shivers in the wet and the feel of life still throbbing at his temples. Someone turns him over; Daniel doesn’t recognize him.

“Get up,” the dark figure says.

Hunched over, Daniel climbs to his feet. His neck aches with a sweet intensity and he smiles. At least this fight gave him some amount of freedom for today. He looks up to see a large man with a bald head and a goatee staring down at him.

“Come on,” he says and waves to Daniel to follow.

Without any questions, Daniel decides to allow himself to be guided by the stranger. He doesn’t have much to lose but his life. The hulk of a man says little to nothing as they walk through the streets. Daniel notices others gathered in the rain soaked alleys and by ways give a wide berth to the man. He wonders who he is and what power he must possess. In little less than a quarter of an hour, Daniel is led to a large warehouse at the end of a dead end street. He can smell the ocean from where he is standing but he doesn’t ask any questions.

The man glances around the abandon area and goes to the large lock hanging from the side door. He pulls the key from his pocket and ushers Daniel inside once he opens the door. The smell of blood, sweat and urine permeate the inside of the warehouse and it makes him gag. He coughs to hide his repulsion.

“This here’s my place of business. I been watching you good over the last few days,” the man says. “Kitty had you up at the cove, but you ain’t no brothel fodder, are you?”

Kitty? Daniel can only gather he means Mama. He doesn’t reply to the man. 

“You got some military training, I can see that in the way you fight. But you pick fights all the time.” He has hit the light switch and a small pond of light encircles them. “I ain’t sure what your game is, drugs, drink, I don’t give a shit. What I want to know is, do you like to fight?”

Daniel thinks about whom he is, who he was. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it; how the mighty have fallen. Jack would like this little contradiction. He has been causing fights all over the city, in dives and bars to make sure the Shadow stays at bay. 

He nods to the man.

“Name’s Rick,” he says and offers him a hand. 

Daniel takes it and says, “Nick.”

“Ha, I like that Rick and Nick, kinda poetic,” Rick smiles at him. “Listen, this here’s a fight club. Not some fancy ass place or nothing from the movies. We fight Fridays and Saturdays every week.” He waves Daniel along and they walk the perimeter as Rick switches on the lights to reveal a roped arena. “I got my main fighters but what I like is someone to warm up the crowd. You know, get beaten up good, then come back swinging. I think you might be the guy for the job.”

He stops and stares at Daniel. They are next to a small glass enclosed office and Rick opens the door and goes to the desk. Daniel does not enter. Rick retrieves a bottle and two glasses. He offers a shot of whiskey to Daniel. He accepts and drinks as Rick does. It burns, but does nothing for him.

“Two days a week,” Rick says. “I’ll give you a place to stay.” He lifts the glass and points to the corner of the warehouse where there is a door. “Small room back there. I got a cot. You can stay there. I pay good. You’ll get pretty beat up but not bad. I try to make sure my warm up guys just get some bruises here and there. Once in a while, you’ll get a cracked rib, but nothing too serious. What do you say?”

Daniel considers the offer. It is so much better than sleeping in a broken dumpster in the middle of an alley. He has no clothes, no food. This is as good as it gets he realizes. What stops him from accepting right away is the fact the Fight Club only needs him for two days. He’ll only be beaten two days out of seven.

“Oh, I’ll give you some clothes too. My brother was your size, I think,” Rick says to sweeten the deal.

“I-.” Daniel starts but stops. “Any chance of other work, too?”

“You can earn more by sweeping up the place, helping to clean up,” Rick says.

Daniel squeezes his eyes shut then opens them as he suppresses the urge to beg. “More fights?”

“Sometimes, we do Thursdays but only once a month.”

Not enough, but perhaps he can make it work. Get out the other days and offer himself for the fighters during their training sessions – if they even train. “Sure, yes, great.”

“Perfect.” Rick slams him in the arm and Daniel nearly drops to his knees and calls out master. He swallows hard as tears threaten. “Get some sleep, tomorrow is Friday and I got a helluva schedule planned.”

Daniel thanks him and Rick shows him the small room. There is a cot, a sink and a toilet. It reminds him of a prison. Rick guides him to another room where there is a dorm sized refrigerator and tells him to eat what he wants. Daniel is left alone in the room as Rick leaves to ‘work on the books’. 

He opens the refrigerator and notices most of the food is old and moldy. He finds an apple and takes it. It isn’t too bruised. He goes back to his new room, sits in the windowless space and rocks on the bed.

How will he get through each week until Friday? So long, so many days.

“The I will take care of you, the I,” the Shadow promises and, for not the first time, Daniel considers the offer.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Just a note – this chapter contains vulgar, possibly inflammatory language. It is not meant to be demeaning but is meant to show the character in his true form. Thank you for supporting this story with reviews! I love them and really want to hear what you like, dislike and what you wish for. Sometimes you get what you wish for! Wink, wink!

CHAPTER 6

….Excerpt from the journal of Colonel Jack O’Neill

Finally a break in the case! 

Looks like Carter was able to do her magic with her doodads or whatever she calls them. When I got the call about a week ago (last entry) that was just dead air, I knew it had to be a lead. I stayed on the line until it went dead. I heard Daniel’s voice, I swear to God I did. It wasn’t much, he sounded like he was in pain or something. Then I heard a scuffle as if he was in trouble. I called out but I’m not sure he even heard me. Well, I called the base immediately and got Carter on the phone pronto. Luckily with caller ID, we were able to place the general area code for the placed call. Now, I worried it might be a cell phone or something – which would really mess us up. But low and behold it was a good old fashioned pay phone. How many of those are around these days anyway? I guess enough. Carter found out the pay phone is in Miami, Florida of all places. So, my bags are packed, I am ready to take on the city of Miami, little Cuba, hell the Miami Dolphins if I have to – I am bringing Daniel home................

 

 

Two days? It is two days. No, no, no. It has to be more than two days. Maybe four? Has it been four? He rocks as he sits on the cot in the corner of the dark room. There is only one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and it shorted out the first night. He hasn’t asked Rick to replace it. Somehow the dark seems more inviting to him, seems like the place he belongs, now.

“Sunday, Monday, Tuesday,” he counts out on his fingers. “It’s Wednesday, right? What day is it?”

“It does not matter what day it is, Master. The I is here for you,” the Shadow taunts him.

He falls into the thin pillow on the bed, burying his face as his body contorts. “No, I’m not your master.”

“The I has taken care of you, the I will make it better.” His body twists on the bed as the Shadow takes over, as his body curls in on itself.

He seizes his hair and rips at it, tugging out strands. “Go away, go away.” He remembers he still wears the dog collar. He grips it and pulls until he cannot breathe.

“The I takes care of you.” The words are jumbled and stuttered as he fights for air. The words fade and the struggle for his body relaxes. He releases his hold of the choke collar and smothers his face in the pillow.

It smells, the stink of cigarettes and mold are held in the pillow, but he keeps his face there so what little light that leaks in from the cracked door cannot find him. He struggles not to let the darkness take him, but he knows that is all he is worth now. He wonders why he doesn’t just end it, yet he knows when he thinks of this avenue – the Shadow follows him, the Shadow takes over. 

He shivers in the room, though it is not cold. The room is hot, muggy and the odors of sweat and urine waft over him. He hasn’t showered in days; his own stench pervades his senses. He doesn’t care. He wants his body to fail on him, to be freed of the constant assault. Pain barely keeps the Shadow away for more than a few minutes or hours now. He fingers the chain of the collar and gives it a jerk. He coughs as it suffocates and claws into his throat. 

It has been days since he participated in the fight club and, already, Daniel knows this set up will not work out for him. He spent the days after the weekend recuperating, but he had to stop Rick’s crew from administering any first aid. He took secret pleasure in stealing salt from the kitchen and discovering the basis for old sayings about salt in wounds. He moans out as he thinks of the fine pain; liquid and soothing in its aspect. He wishes he had some of the salt, now. He imagines flicking it along the bite marks from the collar on his neck. The sweet ache arches over him, spreading from his groin to blossom fully in his chest. He sighs.

“The I could give you pleasure, could offer you so much more,” the thing whispers to him.  
He holds a hand to his chest as if he can grasp the memory of the salt’s bittersweet pain. He stumbles onto his feet, ignoring the Shadow when it continues to lure him. As he staggers across the small space, the Shadow creeps from the corners following him. The whispers are light and beautiful. The words draw him further in and he begs only for release. It has become a physical urge, a need so exquisite it boils over and washes away every other mandate in his life.

Clutching the doorframe, Daniel hangs there and looks out from his little corner room. Several of Rick’s crew clean the ring, sweep, and stock the bar for the next fight. But it is days away and he cannot wait any longer. The Shadow is close. His muscles contract as if they have a memory, as if they know as a shadow he must crouch and bend. Grabbing hold of the frame, he suppresses a groan as he fights the need to crawl over to one of the crew members closer to him.

“Hey, Freak’s up,” the crew member named Dill says. Daniel thinks it must be some horrible coincidence of fate that he is named after a character from “To Kill a Mockingbird”. 

One of the other crew members, a thick man with long hair laughs and tosses an empty beer bottle at Daniel. He shields his face but does not duck. It impacts against his arm and the remaining beer splatters over his clothes. He frowns as the bottle spins on the floor, but thinks he might be able to break it and use the shards later. Dill walks over with the broom and pushes it away, giving Daniel a mock kick.

“You want, I’ll come by later and give you the broom up your ass, that’ll hurt real good,” Dill says and spits at Daniel’s bare feet. He still does not have any shoes. He hasn’t been paid for his first fight weekend yet.

Daniel closes his eyes as he realizes how he must look, how they know his weakness, his addiction. His hands are trembling as he stands there, considering if he should flee. Across the expanse of the warehouse, the door to Rick’s office opens and he strolls over to Daniel. 

With a glance up and down, Rick says, “Get a shower, you stink and that thing around your neck is gonna get infected.”

He shutters his eyes as he battles not to let the words burst out of his mouth. Master, master, master. Yet he nods and allows himself a moment to savor the idea of following the order. “Okay, okay.” He shuffles off to the bathrooms in the back behind Rick’s office.

“We got some special guests coming on Thursday. We got some fights planned. So, make sure you look good tomorrow night,” Rick calls after him. He hears a mumble of curses directed at him as he disappears around the corner.

He ignores the obvious, the fact that Rick will not let him stay here. He is a freak; he knows this. He cannot keep it together much longer. He thinks about calling Jack again, perhaps Rick would allow him to use the office phone. 

“No, he would not be the I’s master,” the Shadow tells him. “The I will take care of you, the I does not want the Jack around.”

He opens the door to the bathroom. The white tiles are stained with various bodily fluids, from urine to blood. He ignores the mildew and crude gluing the tiles in place as he steps past the urinals and open toilet stalls. There is one shower stall tucked in the back of the line of toilets. The space isn’t large enough for a proper shower and it is evident from its plumbing that it was built as an afterthought.

He dials the faucets as he starts to pull off his clothes. He realizes he doesn’t have any other clean clothes to actually put on and stands for a moment considering his dilemma when Rick arrives. He has sweats and a t-shirt as well as a towel and soap. 

“Here you go,” Rick says. “Shoulda given this to you after last week’s fight, but got too busy. I’ll get some more clothes for you. I got a bunch in the back of my office with the fight club logo on it and all.” 

“Thanks,” Daniel whispers and bites his lip as he smothers the urge to call out to him as he leaves the restroom. He slips off his filthy pants and pushes them aside.

“He could be our Master, let him be our Master,” the Shadow says as Daniel lets the water rain over him. He listens to the Shadow speak to him, promising him security, pleasure, and even sanity. Most of the time, it frightens Daniel to relinquish control to the Shadow, but as the hot water spreads over the burning flesh scarring his throat, as it pounds down on old bruises and ripples over open slices he’s made on his skin, he submits to it – if only for a moment.

The Shadow thing inside him – he thinks of it as a snake – worms its way through and into his brain cells, slithers through his bones and seeps like venom through his muscles. Even as his hands work the soap and scrub into the dirty flesh, he feels it spread through him, surging and oozing its toxin. If it wasn’t for the narrow coffin like shower stall, his muscles would reflexively deform into a stooped mimicry of himself. Dropping the soap, he steadies himself against the side of the stall as he wrestles for control again. Tears mix with the slightly rusty colored water covering him. It reminds him of some unholy baptism of blood as he watches the stained water twist about his legs.

He fists his hands and groans as the fight becomes a war inside his brain. With a thrash against the side of the shower, Daniel grasps the chain of the collar again but before he is able to yank at the length a hand seizes his arm. He stumbles out of the shower, falling to his knees as the Shadow coils his body in unnatural positions.

“Some Freak you are, huh?” Dill says. “You like it hard? Huh? I can give it to you hard.” He has a baseball bat in his hand. “Rick’s always picking up lost dogs off the street. Since his brother got dead on the streets, but you take the cake.”

Daniel tries to right himself, while covering his groin with his hands. Dill kicks him in the gut and slams the baseball bat into his thigh. The world pulses around Daniel, fleeting yet on fire.   
“Rick’s got a real soft spot, but me and Stu, we make sure homeless fuck ups like you don’t take advantage of the situation, if you know what I mean,” he says as he nudges Daniel’s curled form with his booted toe. 

The whirl of pain and pleasure spin about Daniel with dizzying speeds. He gulps back the nausea as Dill rams the bat for another blow to his hip. 

“I’m gonna do you real good, so you up and leave,” Dill curses as Daniel moans into the slime covered tiles.

“I found some antiseptic in the office.” Rick stops as he glimpses Daniel huddled on the floor with Dill in mid-swing of another punishing strike. “What the hell are you doing?” He rushes at Dill and grabs the bat from his hand. “Shit, look at his fucking leg.”

Daniel doesn’t move; the pain exploding from his hip and thigh mutes all else. He hears Rick speaking but the words are lost in the din of pain. It takes several minutes before the roar in his ears clears and another few minutes before he can understand the words spoken to him.

“I did it for you; he’s a fucking lunatic or something.” Dill paces back and forth in the small aisle of urinals and toilet stalls. “Talks to himself, calls himself the I. It’s fucking messed up.”

“It ain’t your place to judge. He works for me, not you.” Rick squats by Daniel’s prone figure and pulls the towel from the shelf near the shower stall. “Here, dry yourself off.”

“What about Kelly? She don’t like it when you bring home the strays. You promised you wouldn’t after the last one robbed us blind,” Dill says with a shove at Daniel. “This one’s worse than the last. At least the last one wasn’t bug house crazy.”

“It’s my business; it ain’t none of yours, not Kelly’s.” Rick offers Daniel a hand to stand up.

Daniel wraps the towel around his waist and tests his leg as he climbs to his feet. He doesn’t think it is broken, but the muscles scream in protest.

“Damn sure it is my business. Kelly’s my sister and I look out for my own.” Dill pulls out a cigarette and lights it. “You don’t do something about it, I will. Get rid of him. He’s a fucking retard or something.”

Rick considers the threat and sizes up Daniel. In his glances, Daniel feels thin, nearly transparent. He wonders if he is there at all or if this is some terrible nightmare and he is still in the pit of the Jajin prison. 

“He could be good for business. Let some of the newbies take a whack at him, ya know?” Rick says; his argument is faltering. Daniel is grateful that he tries.

“Kelly don’t like it. You keep it up, I’ll make sure my sister takes your kid and disappears so you never find them again,” Dill says and smashes the cigarette’s butt against the wall. He glares at Daniel. “Just be glad I didn’t use you to put it out.”

Rick concedes with a nod. Dill waits, he connects with Daniel’s gaze as if to silently remind him who is really in charge. Daniel nods as well as he bends down and picks up his clothes.

“Take the clean ones,” Rick says and holds up a hand to stop Dill. “I ain’t having him leave with rags on. It don’t matter, we got a bundle of them in the office.”

Dill sneers at Daniel before he walks off. At the sound of the bathroom door closing, Rick turns to Daniel and says, “You got anywhere to go?”

Daniel refuses to meet his gaze, just drops the towel and dresses. The bruise on his hip and leg is bright and swollen. 

“Listen, I watched you for a while before I brought you here. You don’t belong on the streets,” Rick says. “You a vet or something?”

Daniel shrugs. He doesn’t dare open his mouth; the Shadow waits.

Shoving a hand in his pocket, Rick brings out his wallet. He rifles through it and draws out a handful of bills. “About a hundred. Sorry I don’t got more on me. Got mouths to feed and all. Kelly, she’s a good woman but she don’t like it when I share what we got and all.”

Daniel gives a whispered thank you when he is handed the money. 

“This ain’t right,” Rick says. “Dill’s wrong, see? I ain’t interested in saving the world, but some people – like my brother – well, they deserve better.” He scrubs a hand over his bald head and, for some reason, it reminds Daniel of Jack. He smiles.

“I’ll be all right,” he offers.

Rick shakes his head and cups his hand over his mouth before releasing a pent up breath. “Nope, no. I ain’t doing it like this.” He gestures for Daniel to follow him. 

Without further words, they head toward the office. Rick eyes Dill as he washes down the ring. The hose slams into the concrete floor, washing away blood, vomit, and spit. 

“Come on,” Rick says and they enter the office. He goes to the phone and pushes the buttons. “Yeah, it’s Rick. Get me Kitty.”

Daniel staggers as he hears the name. His heart leaps in conflict. He is both terrified and elated. The war of emotions rushes over him in a great siege as if wave upon wave of battling troops attack him. 

“Hey Kitty, yeah Rick here,” he is saying as Daniel sinks down into a broken couch. The springs in the frame are shot and it sags. “I got me your boy, Nicky. Yeah, yeah, picked him off the streets. I ain’t going to be able to keep him here, would you take him back?”

Daniel looks up at Rick; he is now chewing the end of a cigar. He spits it out and bites another chunk off. It turns Daniel’s stomach as he watches him methodically ‘eat’ the cigar. 

“Yeah, he’s a lot of trouble. But I think he’s some kind of military type. Got the right training for it with the fighting and all.” He stops as he listens, then adds, “I ain’t too happy about the thought of some homeless veteran. Yeah, he’s got some psycho problems but I don’t want to just shove him out on the street again. Can you help him out any?”

As he continues the conversation, Daniel wraps his arms around himself and thinks about a phone call. The one phone call a prisoner gets to make. He has yet to successfully connect on his phone calls; he supposes this means he isn’t as good as a prisoner. He is lower, less valued. A tremor forces him to sit on his hands.

Rick stands next to him a moment later, his hulk shadowing Daniel, causing him to jerk as if the Shadow within has manifested before him. 

“Settle down. Kitty says she’ll take you back on one condition,” Rick says. He chews on the last of the cigar. His sausage-like fingers are locked into his belt hoops. “She says you gotta go all in, I ain’t sure what that means.”

All in. Daniel quakes at the thought. He cannot do this; he’ll lose the last vestiges, the remaining tatters of his soul. He brings a hand to his mouth and bites at his nails; they are already bloody and ripped. He blinks away his emotions and just nods to Rick. All in, everything, the last shreds of who he is.

A whore.

“Come on then,” Rick says as they start out of the office and down the length of the warehouse. Daniel slips behind Rick as if he is already a shadow, his shoulders hunched. He thinks of the money clutched in his hands. Maybe he should call, maybe he can take a bus somewhere far away. 

The Shadow laughs.

Rick glances over his shoulder as if to check that Daniel is still there. Opening the door, he ushers Daniel into the back streets. As he is about to say his farewells, he stops and says, “Go to the mission. It don’t take a rocket scientist to see your scared shitless. Go to the mission instead. Call your family. It ain’t right to have a Vet like you on streets. I don’t know how the military fucked with your head, but you should be with family.”

Why is it the word family brings up images of Jack in his mind? The Shadow laughs, again.

“Little strange, ain’t you?” Rick says then gives him a whack on the shoulder. “Good luck, I don’t like to see a Vet out on the streets.”

Daniel watches as the door closes and he is left in the middle of the empty street. His feet are still bare. He only has a t-shirt and sweats with one hundred dollars tucked in his fist. He backs up at first, staring at the warehouse as if it is his home and he is leaving for college, the last look of some placed cherished. He turns away from it then, bows his head and finds his way through the streets. It isn’t difficult and he doesn’t look anyone in the eye as he passes. He pauses only once as the telephone booth stands before him.

“Jack,” he whispers.

“No,” the Shadow answers. “The I will take care of you. You don’t need him, Master. Surrender to the I.”

His nails drive deep slices into his palms as he fights for control. A groan issues from him and spittle drools down his chin. He flings his hands open; the money scatters in the wind and he runs to the Cove and back to Mama.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Warnings – this chapter contains profane language, and dubious consent issues. Please be advised to skip it if this will be upsetting to you. 

CHAPTER 7  
……Excerpt note written by Daniel Jackson to Jack O’Neill – never sent  
Dear Jack,  
I wanted to let you know I never wanted to skip out on you like that. I wanted to explain what was happening and why, but the truth is – I didn’t know. That isn’t entirely true. I didn’t know at first, but then it slowly and inexplicably dawned on me that I was truly going insane. Neither drug treatment nor therapy has helped my gradual descent into the snake pit. I can here its voice in my head all the time now. I am at war. I am not winning. The I fights for control all the time, begging for a master while I beat it back literally. I am on the edge of all tolerance. The pain I must inflict on myself is nearly impossible to take. Each time I must ratchet it up, take a new risk. If I do not, the Shadow wins and I am farther away from the surface. I feel like I am drowning, silent and unseen. 

I want you to understand I am not asking for anyone to come and save me. I do not need to be rescued; I need to be remembered – by someone. I know I do not remember who I am, or who I was. Please remember me as the scholar, geek, soldier, pain in the ass. Please don’t think of me as this thing that has taken over my mind. I want you to know that I was proud to have you as my friend and I hope you can say the same when you think about your memories of me. Please do not pity me now. Do not pity what is already lost, do not mourn it, do not look for it. It is gone................................................................

 

He stands in the corner of the back room at the Cove. It is ill light and the smoke from the bar hangs in heavy clouds around him. He coughs but stays; he awaits Mama. His arms curve like a bow, a bend of the wrist and elbow to be tucked around his body. He has to fight to open his hands; his fingers bend in mutilated forms shaped as if disfigured by arthritis. The Shadow holds onto his body.

Leaning against the stained wall, Daniel fights to stay upright. The last of his strength ebbs away as his back shifts to form a C shape. He wonders how long Mama will leave him here, in the back room to listen to the calls from the basement. He hides his head in the corner, smelling the long lingering smoke and woody scent captured there. He needs to go down into the basement; he needs to have a patron. He closes his eyes and thinks on the pain.

Mama has left him in the corner for two days with only short breaks for bodily necessities. She hasn’t allowed him to sleep or to eat, though. It is part of his punishment. It is the first step, she says, of his understanding the difference between them. She is in charge; she calls the shots. She allows him to reside there under her good graces. The Shadow strengthens as she becomes his master. He will accept anything she asks of him. 

Anything.

He slams his head into the corner, and it is not the first time. He bashed his head repeatedly the first day of his punishment. It caused him to wheel unsteadily on his feet especially with his bruised leg. Mama would not have him collapse so he stopped his self-infliction upon her warning. He would be left to the streets. When she isn’t in the room, Daniel pries his hand open and digs his nails into the injury along his hip and thigh. It causes him to hiss. His heart skips in a near climatic rhythm when he concentrates on the pain. Maybe going all in won’t be so bad, he thinks, maybe it is what he needs. He thinks if he does go all in, perhaps the Shadow will dissipate.

It does not escape him the irony of it all. How his need for pain precipitates his participation in a sadistic masochist society while at the same time the Shadow he so desires to conceal longs for the Master lurking in the wings of the culture he has entered. Internally, he is in conflict.

“The I will take this body, the I will never let you free,” it curses at him. “The I knows you are a coward. You are nothing to your friends. The I has been here for you while your friends, the Jack, has not. The I is all you have and you hurt the I.”

Daniel shakes his head. “No, I-.” He cannot finish; he doesn’t know what to say. He both loves and despises the I, now. The Shadow has been with him all these many days. He is alone without the Shadow. Without the Shadow, he is little more than an after image, a blot of light and nothing more. 

“The I would make you promise,” the Shadow continues. “The I would make you promise to let the I be. The I would make you promise to take a Master. If you will not be the Master, the I will take one here.”

As he presses his face into the wedge of the corner, Daniel hears the cries from the basement of the Cove; the dungeon. They filter up like a beautiful and horrible song all at once. His desire to leave the corner heightens as he listens to the music. Even as he concentrates on the sobs of pain, his body betrays him and he falls to his knees in a bow. 

“The I will take this body,” the Shadow states. 

He grapples to regain control, but his muscles stiffen and freeze against his direction. At that moment, Mama enters the room. Her leather skirt is far too short and her knee high boots emphasize her domination. She’s rolled up the sleeves on her overly small t-shirt. She carries a short whip in her hand and sweat drips down her face and her cleavage. 

She raises one finger to her lips as she considers him, then brings the finger down and taps on his upturned face. “You ain’t supposed to be kneeling.”

“The I will only listen to the Master.”

She smiles and tilts her head. “You got an interesting dilemma as I see it, sweetie.” She lets her finger drift to his lips and shoves it into his mouth. “You want a Master, but when you get the pain you ain’t interested anymore. Seems like you got two people in that pretty little head of yours.” She glides her finger along his tongue and leans down to whisper, “Suck it and I’ll let you go downstairs.”

Daniel struggles for control; he wraps his tongue around her index finger but the Shadow refuses to allow him to follow the command. The I warns him, whispers in his ear that she cannot be the Master unless Daniel promises to surrender to the I. If he capitulates they will both be happy with a Master to control them.

When he fails to obey, she tears her finger from his mouth and growls at him, “You’ll stand here til you fucking fall down.”

In a momentary lapse of control, Daniel calls out to her. “No, please, hit me. I’ll do it, hit me with the whip. Make it stop and I’ll do anything.”

The Shadow screeches.

The fury ringing through her causes her to fly into action. The whip slings outward and catches him on the side of the face. He drops to the floor; his eyes watering as the pain expands across his cheek. With her arm outstretched, Mama gives him the full force of a hit. The whip cracks open the air and split his pain into a blaze as his neurons fire. She follows with another blow, impacting his bare shoulder and back. Rivers of torn skin are etched into his flesh. He welcomes it and begs for more. She does not hesitate and continues her attack. His body relaxes, the contortion of the I disperse as he feeds into the pain. A final blast smacks him hard on his abdomen and he lies basking in the aching glow. He has submitted to a Master, but has won the battle against the I, yet not the war.

She stops, glaring at him as she pants from her exertions. She kneels over him and gazes into his face. He smiles up at her; she must be an angel he thinks. For a moment, she looks incredibly young to him as she might have once looked as a teenager. Her expression is questioning as if she worries about why he is here and why he desires so much constant pain. She opens her mouth and he thinks she is about to ask him. She stops herself and instead the mask is drawn over her features. She takes a nail and digs it into the ripped skin on his abdomen. She burrows a bit until he moans.

“I’m in charge, you got that?” Mama asks. The hardness crosses her face again with all softness an illusion of his mind.

“Yes, Mama,” Daniel says.

“You ready for it, baby?” She drags her nail along his wound. “You ready to go all in?”

He nods and knows his soul shreds into tatters. He would give up the last part of his integrity, of himself. As he considers this, Daniel realizes it is a paradox. In order to maintain some small part of control over his mind and the Shadow, he must give into the submission. He will give up his control to go ‘all in’. There is no guarantee he will be able to get it back. Once he allows himself to be taken, there will be no rescue. His body might survive, but his mind will not.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Mama says as she offers him a hand to assist him. “I got the perfect client for you. I told him all about what you like. He’s all excited to meet you.”

Daniel doesn’t respond. These are his last days, the last moments he can claim even a bit of respect for himself. His mind flashes back to the moments before Catherine Langford drove into his life. He wants to cry, but his tears are smothered and gone. He feels like the desert with no hope for rain.

She pats him on the hand as they walk upstairs to the bedrooms, back to his private room. “He’s coming tonight. We got to get you ready.” She vibrates with anticipation. “He’s paying real good for you.” They continue up the narrow steps. “I picked him out for you ‘cause he likes the ones who don’t got no experience in fucking. He likes it that way.”

Daniel shudders as she leads him to the showers. She peels off the rest of his clothes and turns on the walk in shower. She strips as well and steps into the fall of water. She guides him to the shower, scrubbing him in a bizarre rite of passage. She explores his body with probing fingers as she tells him she is preparing him. He whines low and guttural. This is not what he wants, but it is what he needs. He screams out in his head, asking for mercy, for help. 

A whispered promise is his answer. “The I is here.” The words are like a caress. “The I will love you and take care of you.” 

She says nothing to the words but continues her work, cleansing him and speaking to him. She is telling him to relax, open up, be quiet. She instructs him on what to do, how to behave and what is expected. It is almost time, she says with a curious giggle as if they are conspiring to commit a sin together.

His mind freezes, his limbs are paralyzed. The water anoints him though it is not sacred but profane.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you for the feedback, hopefully I will be able to respond to all of your comments in the next day or two. WARNINGS for this chapter – attempted rape, profane language, graphic depictions of violence

CHAPTER 8

…...Excerpt transcript of Colonel Jack O’Neill’s conversation with Major Samantha Carter, base phone

COL O’Neill: I must have stood by that pay phone for days. I think it was three or four. Really crappy part of town. Half dozen hookers propositioned me.

MAJ Carter: But it was the right pay phone?

COL O’Neill: Yep, it was. Like I said it took me a few days to get anyone to even stop and answer any questions but finally some jackass kid did stop.

MAJ Carter: Did he give you any relevant info, sir?

COL O’Neill: After a few beers and a couple a bucks. Do you think I can put that on my expense report? No, don’t answer that, the phone has ears you know.

MAJ Carter (laughing): Yes, sir. I mean no, sir.

COL O’Neill: Well, I showed the kid the photo of Daniel and he finally told me that Daniel was around. He was some kind of bum, or indigent. 

MAJ Carter: Oh, sir, how terrible.

COL O’Neill (pauses): Yeah, yeah, Carter. Anyway, I found out that Daniel got into a few fights. Seems he’s been picking them. He’s been going by the name, Nick.

MAJ Carter: Is he still living on the streets, sir?

COL O’Neill: Not sure. I got a name of a guy. Seems Daniel got an offer to fight in one of those Fight Clubs as a warm up act. The guy’s name is Rick.

MAJ Carter: Do you know where to find this Rick person?

COL O’Neill: Not yet, that’s where you come in. I need you to run some queries for me. Do whatever it is you do and get me who this Rick is and where this Fight Club is. Rick has had to have had some runs in with the law. Figure it out for me.

MAJ Carter: On it, sir.

COL O’Neill: Get me the info as soon as possible. I don’t think Daniel’s got much time left.

MAJ Carter: Count on it, sir.

COL O’Neill: And Carter, thanks.

MAJ Carter: We’re all in this together, sir........................................................

 

He thinks on the profundity of pain. The brain controls everything; pain is a construct of the brain. The brain configures the whole of reality; the wants, needs, requirements of an individual are fashioned by experiences but also by the reactions, and actions of the brain. He thinks he may have heard a lecture on biology verse the philosophy of the brain at one point, but he remembers little. 

He is not tracking, not following what is happening around him. He sank into a paralyzed abyss some time ago. The Shadow has abandoned him in the darkest of his days. His body is beaten, broken into shards of a wasted life. He stares into a lifeless gray void as the man over him throws him into a chasm. This client handles him without mercy; he uses his fists and booted feet. He rarely uses the riding crop he selected from the walls of the playroom. 

It is in these moments that Daniel calls to his other self, his Shadow. He begs for it to come, to witness, to blind him to what is happening. It slinks back into the recesses and will not support him, will not hold him up as the shattering begins. The client laughs as Daniel cries out, using fists to hit his face, using steel tipped boots to kick his abdomen and kidneys. It is not a sexual act, but a true act of aggression. Daniel knows what is about to happen is not sex, it is not even fucking; it is pure in all aspects. It is rape. 

He wonders if the man goading him, torturing him is responsible or if it is just himself. He asked for this, agreed to it. He hates his weakness; he despises his definition. He has become a weak man, but maybe he was always weak. Was he ever more than that? Could he be? 

A flash of his friends, of his team mates stops him. He is balled into a corner of the room as the man bats at him with his fists, slamming it into his back again and again. It sickens him to ponder what they may think of him in this hour, this hour of his complete surrender to the more debase part of himself. The pain has set him free of the Shadow, yet it hasn’t saved him from himself. The pain has frightened the Shadow away but it is the Shadow Daniel needs. He does not have the courage to continue. He refuses to face the hulk above him. 

The man grabs onto his arm and drags him across the room to deposit him onto the padded floor. The pad reminds Daniel of ones found in a gym, easy to clean of bodily fluid. His client’s anger crescendos like they are in the height of an opera. His need for release is evident but before he relieves himself he picks up the riding crop and, as if to make a final accent to his masterpiece of brutality, he lashes Daniel. 

The pain is harsh, clear, and evident. It opens his mind in a paradoxical cleansing. In sharp relief, he sees who he used to be, understands what his potential was and how the Shadow obliterated every hope and dream. What is happening to the husk of his body is a product of the Shadow’s infestation of his mind. He comprehends it for what it is, the physical embodiment of the Shadow’s victory over the definition of Daniel Jackson. Though he fought to keep the Shadow at bay, though the Shadow lurks only in the background as he is struck again and again, it wins because he has conceded to living this life. 

At this realization, anger surges over him in a flooded wave based within the beating of his heart. The thrumming of his heart explodes outward and he catches the riding crop on its downward swing. His back is bloodied and bruised, his one eye swells as his split lip bleeds down his chin.

The man yanks on the crop, tugging it away from Daniel and ordering him to let go.

“No,” Daniel says and clamors to his knees, then heaves himself to a crouch. He is nearly standing.

“No?” The man laughs at him. “You gonna be a good little whore or you gonna make your Daddy beat the crap out of you?”

Daniel passes a hand over his lips and bloodied nose. The smear of blood on his hand just increases the intensity of his anger. “You’re a weakling. You think hitting someone, beating someone makes you into a man? It just proves to me how insignificant you are. Christ, I’ve fought System Lords with more balls than you.”

“You trying to make me angry, you slut?”

Daniel smirks. “You wish. You can’t get it up unless you’re angry.” He lifts his chin at the man’s wilting erection. “A little back talk and you’re nothing but a shriveled moron.”

“You want to see me angry, you son of a bitch?” The man leaps at Daniel. He has at least twenty pounds on Daniel and easily drops him to the floor. He scrambles over Daniel and grabs for his clothes, though Daniel cannot figure out the reason until the man’s produces his belt.

He knees Daniel in the gut and, as Daniel bends over gulping for breath; his client whips the belt at him. It catches Daniel on the swollen side of his face and he collapses onto the padded floor. Grasping his cheek, Daniel shrieks against the pain. The man is upon him without remorse. The belt slips over Daniel’s neck before he realizes what is happening. In seconds, the noose is tightened and Daniel thrashes at the man, his fists pounding on his hand as his assailant constricts it around his throat. Clawing at his own flesh, Daniel attempts to free himself from the leather noose. 

His client drags him using the belt; the noose closes down on Daniel’s airway. He isn’t sure what the man is doing but suddenly he’s hoisted up to a half-standing position. He’s tethered to the wall by the leash of the belt hooped to a hook. Daniel reaches for the belt but the riding crop slices his hand away.

“Now, I get what I paid for,” the man says and spits at Daniel. 

Daniel struggles to release the belt from the hook, but his client catches his hands and clasps them behind his back. Even as Daniel gives a weak kick outward, his hands are cuffed. 

“Ain’t no use fighting now, you gotta let me fuck you now or you gonna hang yourself.” He slams his body against Daniel, pressing his erection against his leg. He bites into Daniel’s shoulder until blood oozes and Daniel hisses as nerves and muscles are violated. 

“Please,” Daniel whispers. “Please, please.”

“Ain’t no use going and begging now, pretty boy.” His hands are on Daniel’s hips, holding him, keeping in him place.

Yet, Daniel does not beseech the man for mercy, he calls instead to the Shadow and asks the I to save him, to rid him of this nightmare, to save him from the memories. The moments are broken and bleak, all sound and light disperses leaving him in a hollow cavity. He feels nothing as he crushes his head against the wall. He succumbs to the penetrating darkness, but a light calls out to him, pulls him from the edge of the abyss. 

“Jesus, Daniel.” The words are like a prayer.

He opens up eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed. Somehow, he has been freed of his restraints and the man beating him is sprawled in an unconscious heap on the floor. His vision narrows as he looks up and whispers, “Jack.”


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: WARNINGS: suicidal thoughts, actions.

CHAPTER 9  
He thinks he hears talking in the background. The sounds of Mama’s voice filter through the fog of pain and the horror. His body betrays him and he moans a little as he shifts against the wounds on his back. There are hands on him and, in defense, he kicks them away. A hand cups his cheek, being careful not to touch the injured side of his face.

“I should call the police.” The voice reminds him of Jack and Daniel smiles, but it hurts and he groans as he lies back onto the cold mat. 

“It ain’t usually like this,” Mama says as she leans over Daniel. “I don’t got problems with clients. They know the rules and all. I provide a good service. This one’s a new client. He didn’t follow the rules.”

“Service, you call this a service?” Jack mocks. “What the hell are you serving? A main course of get your butt whipped with a side order of rape?”

“It ain’t like that at all,” Mama says. “And he came to me, he wanted to be here.”

It occurs to Daniel within the storm of pain ravaging his body that he is actually listening to Jack; his friend is actually here with him. He pries open his eyes, but only one fully functions. He notes that a blanket has been placed over his crumpled body and that Jack is holding a berretta. He isn’t aiming it at anyone. 

“Jack?” Daniel mumbles and the single word comes out in shattered tones. 

“Hey,” Jack says and turns to him. His hand curls around Daniel’s neck. “You with me now?”

He tries to nod, to make Jack feel better, but the movement causes the room to swirl around him in a dizzying dance. His stomach clenches, but gratefully he does not heave. 

“Can you sit up?” Jack asks and wraps his arm around his shoulder as Daniel attempts to comply. “I want to bring you over to the hospital.”

Daniel tears away from Jack’s grasp and shakes his head. The room spins and curves. He clenches his head and closes his eyes. “No hospitals, no hospitals.”

“Daniel, you got some pretty bad bruising already,” Jack says and reaches for him again. “I don’t know what the internal injuries could be.” His fingertips are just inches away from Daniel as he huddles against the wall where he’d been tied.

He shivers and says no in a low voice again. The Shadow is lurking, rising like a great mass of insects from the ground. The I creeps from its darkened recesses and swarms over him. “Who are you to touch, the Daniel? You failed the Daniel, he has only the I.”

Jack jumps back, his face one of shock and revulsion but he quickly schools his features. He leans back to Daniel and says, “I just want to help. He’s hurt.”

Daniel glances to the side and says, “No hospitals, right? No hospitals.”

“The I will not go to a hospital, the I will not go.”

Daniel looks back at Jack and murmurs, “We can’t go to the hospital. The I will not like it.” He struggles to keep his own voice, but it changes in some odd mockery of his own voice. “The I does not like this one. This one refused the I, refused to be the I’s master.”

Jack crawls closer to Daniel’s bent form.

“Don’t go blaming that on us; he’s been stark raving mad since he got here,” Mama says. The client has been ushered out of the room and she hangs at the doorway as if she wants to escape.

“Jack will help us,” Daniel says as he straightens a bit but almost immediately his body curves inward as the Shadow speaks, “The Jack will be the I’s master?”

Jack starts to agree but Daniel pleads with his eyes. Not Jack, he needs Jack to make the Shadow go away, to make it disappear. The Shadow growls at him as he tries to communicate with Jack. Somehow Jack understands even as he frowns. 

He says, “I’ll do whatever I can.” He offers his hand again, though not without a strained expression. Daniel knows it must be from disgust. Who would want to be his friend? All he deserves now is the Shadow. 

The Shadow laughs at him and says, “You are nothing. The I tried to protect you, but look at you. Sick, depraved, the I loathes you.”

Jack grabs for Daniel’s hand as he twists away. He speaks over the Shadow’s rant. “I’m not taking you to the hospital. Just come with me. I’ll take care of you.”

The tension leaves Daniel’s body as he hears the promise. He recalls how all he wanted was to disappear so that his friends could not see his needs, his corruption but now he longs to relent, to give in and let someone else deal with the constant pursuit of the Shadow. Maybe Jack can make it go away, maybe Jack can do it. 

In seconds, Jack pulls a pair of shorts onto Daniel’s thin body. His muscle mass is stings and tendons; he is a broken skeleton of his former self. With gentle proddings, Jack guides Daniel to his feet and stops. He surveys the room then asks Mama, “Where are his shoes?”

“Don’t got any, he ain’t never needed them here.”

Jack curses low in his throat, waves her away with a flick of the gun. She stands aside but doesn’t say anything to Daniel. There are several of the other Masos in the hallway staring at him as he is drawn out of their web. He glances back at their hollow faces but doesn’t see them at all; he only glimpses the half images of what was, who he was. He shudders in response. 

Rubbing his arm, Jack leads him to the back door. Daniel recognizes it, realizes it is the one Mama threw him out. Was that years ago, he wonders? As Jack turns the doorknob, Daniel’s heart expands in his throat. He cannot breathe as it pounds an insane beat. He backs away from the door.

“No, no, no,” Daniel says and grapples to get free of Jack.

“What is it? What?” Jack is asking as he kicks and bats at him.

“Out there,” Daniel gulps in a breath. “Out there, it will have me. The I will have me.” His body slinks toward the door, disregarding his fears as the Shadow whispers, “The I has you already. The I takes care of you.”

He falls to the floor; the fight against the I overwhelms his control and he roils like a man possessed. His body contorts against his will and he pitches his back against the I. The Shadow screams at him, curses him as Jack staggers away. Daniel catches sight of Jack as he stands against the outer door, a hand over his mouth, the gun holstered uselessly in the waist of his jeans.

The gun, Daniel thinks and lunges for it. If he can get this thing out of his head, if he can silence it, perhaps his life would open again for him, perhaps normality is just a bullet away. He grasps the handle but Jack’s grips his hands and wrestles with him to release the gun.

“Jesus, Daniel, just let it go,” Jack says as they fight for control of the weapon.

“Just one bullet, just one,” Daniel says and yanks at the gun with two hands. It slips away from Jack’s grasp just as a crack splits open the air and Daniel cries out from the lash of the flogger. The gun tumbles to the floor and he follows it. Another whip of the flogger brings only a quiet whimper to his lips. 

“Stop it,” Jack orders as he scrambles to pick up the gun, glaring at Mama. She readies for another hit. Jack shields him with a protective arm. “Don’t, not again.”

“Here, you’re gonna need these,” Mama says and tosses his wristbands and remote to Jack. “He ain’t never been right in the head. I can’t see how you gonna control him without a little bit of pain.”

Jack picks up the wristbands and considers them. Daniel reaches for them and Jack relinquishes the device. He watches Daniel as he slips on the bands. He cannot stop the tremor of his hands as he takes a hold of the remote. Something squirms inside of him and he knows it is the I. The I both hates and loves the pain; the Shadow understands even as it surrenders to the pain, the pain destroys Daniel. One day it will completely obliterate the last ruins of his soul and the I will be free.

With a simple wave of his hand, Jack eases Daniel to come to him. “Come on, let’s go.” He looks up at Mama and Daniel sees something shift over Jack’s features. He recognizes it; Jack doesn’t know whether to thank her or condemn her.

He glances at Mama. In the dark of night, the pool of light she stands in makes her seem even younger. He wonders if anyone will save her. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t smile; she just bows her head and closes the door after them. 

Jack nudges him and he turns back to the street. The alley way has puddles of cold dirty water and Jack navigates them around it as best as he can, though Daniel’s feet still get wet. He doesn’t really care as he clutches the remote. It feels like all the security he needs right now.

Jack slings an arm around his waist to steady him as he stumbles along the pitted concrete. There are a few passersby with crude comments. Jack urges him to quicken his pace and for a moment Daniel imagines they are on hostile planet, there are Jaffa after them and he is wounded. He wonders if he’s just made it all up; is there such a thing as a Stargate at all? 

Pointing, Jack brings him to a jeep and Daniel climbs into the seat. Jack closes the seat belt around Daniel and there is a low curse. There are fingerprints on Daniel’s waist, his arms and the bite mark on his shoulder breaks open when the seatbelt strap rubs against it. He gestures for Jack to forget it and he only hesitates for a second before he listens to Daniel. Jack jumps into the driver’s seat, keys the ignition and floors it as they speed through the streets of Miami. 

In a blur, it speeds around him and Daniel slides back into the seat. He drifts as his injured face throbs with his heart, as his back and muscles screech in harmony. He allows exhaustion to swallow him. 

“I can’t take him to the hospital,” Jack is saying the next time Daniel is aware of his surroundings. “They’ll commit him. He’s worse, so much worse than I would have bet. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

Daniel wakes up a bit more and realizes he is lying on the soft comforter of a bed in a hotel room. He opens his eyes, but only one will actually open. His teeth ache with each breath. He stares at the ceiling, the popcorn ceiling as he listens to Jack speaking in the other room. 

“No military transport? What the F-.” Jack stops then starts again. “Son of a bitch, I am going to kill Kinsey myself. He cannot be serious?”

Daniel shifts onto his left side; it isn’t as bruised and the stars of pain are of lower intensity. He doesn’t want to see the comforter; it must be stained with his blood. 

“I can’t, I can’t do it. He needs medical care and don’t even think about suggesting that McQuack.” Jack strides out into the main room and Daniel realizes they must have one of those extended stays rooms. The layout looks more like a small studio apartment or condo than a hotel room. “Well, I can probably keep him comfortable for that long. But we need to move him. Yeah, I can probably drive up to Georgia, why?”

Jack notes that Daniel is awake and gives him short wave. The sounds of the Shadow start to pick up and Daniel braces himself. He squeezes the remote, expecting the sharp sensation of the electric shock but none comes. He tries again. 

Shit, shit, shit. He lifts his hand and glares at it. He presses the button repeatedly. Are the batteries dead? He goes to open it up and then sees the wires are hanging loose from it. Was it like this when Mama returned it to him? He flicks the wires a few times or did Jack do this?

He looks up at Jack as he speaks on his cell phone.

“It’ll be a good eight or nine hour drive, but we can do that,” Jack says. “You think you can get there by tomorrow night?”

It is then Daniel sees the gun sitting cast off on the small kitchenette counter. Jack paces as he listens to the answer to his question. He mumbles something else that Daniel does not catch and then strides into the bathroom. Inching out of the bed, Daniel clamors to the other bed and uses it as a crutch to guide himself to the counter.

One bullet, he thinks. It is all it would take to vanquish the Shadow. 

“You are too much of a coward to do it,” the I says to him.

“Shut up,” Daniel hisses.

“Take the gun, then, the I knows you cannot do it. The I knows you are too weak to be the Master. You cannot be the I’s master, and you are too weak to stop the I.”

Daniel creeps closer to the gun. He fumbles over to the counter stools and leans against one. The gun is just an arm span away. He knows the cold feel of it, the weight and the texture of it. Deep in him, he longs to hear the bullet as it eats the air of all other sound. Maybe it won’t hurt, just one bullet to his head, maybe it won’t hurt. He would be free of the Shadow.

He reaches for the gun but Jack stops him. “Don’t Daniel.” He is no longer on the phone.

Daniel’s hand perches over the gun; it shakes and he feels like an addict. He knows what it feels like to be an addict, the images and memories of the sarcophagus bubble up. His hand is wet with perspiration. 

The I laughs.

“Daniel.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand, Jack. You don’t get it.”  
Jack takes a step closer and, with that movement, Daniel drops his hand to hover on the gun, not clasping but touching it. 

“Then tell me.”

Daniel bites back the words scraping at his throat from the I. His body tremors as he fights it back. The internal battle is too much; he cannot control it. He wants release from it. He grabs the gun.

“Please, Daniel,” Jack whispers as Daniel raises the gun to his own temple.

Through clenched teeth, he says, “I cannot do it anymore. I can’t. It wants me. It has me. Don’t you see? It has me.”

Jack takes another step and Daniel flicks off the safety. 

“Tomorrow, we’re going to Georgia to a small cabin,” Jack says, his voice a soft gentle breeze. “Doc’s aunt’s has a place. She’s going to meet us there.”

“Janet?” Daniel says but the Shadow hisses back, “She comes to help the I.”

“No, Daniel, she’s coming to help you,” Jack says. “Come on give me the gun.”

The gun quakes in his hand. He likes the feel of it against his temple; something in him loves it. He licks his lips as his hand feels weak and broken. “But it has me.”

“Not yet,” Jack says. “I’m talking to you, Daniel, you.”

Daniel closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them. “Comes back, every time. Every time.”

“What comes back?”

“The Shadow,” Daniel is nearly stuttering as he says it. The Shadow is so close to the surface. He presses his free hand against the swollen portion of his face; it makes tears come to his eyes but it also suppresses the I for a few more precious minutes.

“I can help you, Daniel.” 

“You’ll help me,” he says, he does not believe him.

“Whatever you need me to do to keep it away,” Jack promises.

He drops the gun to his lap, stares down on it then slowly places it back on the counter. Jack scoops it up and engages the safety again.

“You have to hurt me,” Daniel murmurs; he isn’t looking at Jack but at the floor. “To make the I go away, stay away. You have to hurt me.”

There is a moment’s pause before Jack grasps Daniel’s hand and nods his head. “Yeah, I know.”

It is more of a confession than a vow.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

…..Conversation between Colonel Jack O’Neill and Teal’c

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Jack says.

“You must endeavor to do it, O’Neill,” Teal’c answers.

“Janet is meeting us tomorrow at a cabin in Georgia. I’m not sure she understands what she is getting herself into here. He isn’t Daniel anymore,” Jack says over the phone.

“Doctor Fraiser has made great strides with help and does comprehend the nature of Daniel Jackson’s affliction now. She believes she may be able to cure him of it.”

“Seriously?” Jack asks.

“Yes, I am serious, O’Neill, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Okay, okay. She knows what to do?” Jack repeats.

“Yes, she is sure she can help Daniel Jackson as long as he has not completely succumbed to the affliction,” Teal’c adds.

“Shit. We’ll be cutting it close, T-man, real close,” Jack replies.

“You must ensure that Daniel Jackson remains himself at whatever cost, O’Neill.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying Teal’c. It isn’t that easy.”

“It is. This is Daniel Jackson of which we are speaking. You must do this.”

“I’ll try.”

“To quote the old and wise, there is no try, there is only do.”

“He doesn’t need Yoda right now, Teal’c,” he pauses. “He needs all of us.”

“I will endeavor to make it so,” Teal’c says with a slightest sound of a smile in his voice..........................................................

 

 

Hands fumble with the wristbands, searching for the end of the tape. Fingernail edges under the tape, digging into the side and pulling to free the tape from the side of the remote. It opens and the wires hang out. With a quick tug, the wire is pulled out and tossed aside. There is laughter as the recently repaired wristbands are destroyed.

The bathroom door swings open and Jack walks out into the main area of the hotel room. He has a towel slung around his hips and another over his head. 

He scrubs at his hair and speaks, “We’ll leave early in the morning, so you might as well get some sleep. I’ll run you a bath; I know you said no, but I really think it would make you feel better.” As he drops the towel, he catches sight of the wristbands. “What the hell are you doing?”

“The I has done what is necessary,” the Shadow twists the body it possesses as it curls onto it knees and crawls to Jack’s feet. “The I does not need the pain.”

“Son of a-.” Jack says but stops in mid-curse. He grabs the wristbands and returns to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

The I smiles and climbs onto the bed. 

“He won’t, he won’t let you have me,” Daniel whispers, his voice weakened and faded. 

“He doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand,” the Shadow hisses. “You are the I’s other self, not the true self. You are only the I’s shadow now.”

“Jack promised.” It is harder now to control his body, his mouth, his lips. He realizes as he sits with his knees bent on the bed, with his arms wrapped around his knees, that the Shadow owns him, not the other way around. “Jack promised.”

“Go back where you belong, go to the Jajin prison,” the Shadow curses. “The pain will not set you free.”

The bathroom door opens once again and Jack enters the room. He is fully dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He throws the wristbands on the dresser and says, “You’ve managed to break it again. I don’t think I can repair it this time.”

The I laughs at Jack. “The I does not need it, the I only needs you as its Master.”

Jack throws the remote down, conceding to the Shadow and calls to it, “Come on let’s get you cleaned up and in the bath.”

The I slides to the floor and fumbles at Jack’s bare feet. The Shadow places its forehead on his feet and kisses him, an intimate action. Jack jerks away and bats at him.

“Stop that,” Jack says and glares at the I. 

The I crawls across the floor, bridging the distance and reaches out to Jack. “You must be the I’s master now. You promised the I to save the I.”

“I promised to save Daniel, not you.” Jack swears under his breath. He shakes his head as if he cannot make out what is happening as if he understands that before him is a shattered mind of a man. The shards are scattered about him, sharp and deadly. He stumbles to a chair and falls into it.

“You cannot save him; he is weak.” The Shadow approaches Jack on all fours. The shoulders bend upwards and contort the body.

In a whisper, Jack says, “You don’t even look like him anymore. Maybe you’re right. Maybe Daniel’s dead.”

As the Shadow eases itself next to him, Jack reaches down to touch the hair, the bruised face. The I holds his palm and kisses it as if in a vow. Jack slips his hand down to lift up the Shadow’s chin. He gazes into the blue eyes of the I. 

Jack speaks in low soft tones. “You’re right, he’s gone, isn’t he?”

Tears leak out of the Shadow’s eyes and the I smiles. “You will be the I’s Master?”

Jack glides out of the chair and goes to his knees in front of the Shadow. They kneel next to one another. “I will be there for you.”

The I whispers its thanks and lays its head on Master’s shoulder as tears stain Master’s t-shirt. They stay like that for long moments, edging toward minutes. As the tension dissipates from the Shadow’s body, the Master says, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Yes, Master,” it croons. 

Standing, the Master offers the Shadow his hand and grasps the I’s hand with care. The Master ushers it into the small bathroom. Without words, he undresses the Shadow and guides it to the tub. The Master waits for the Shadow but the I does not move.

He sighs and says, “You are permitted to get into the bathtub.”

The I echoes his sigh but it is one of pleasure and relief as if the battle it has been fighting is finally over and it can relax. The Shadow lies back in the water, hissing as its scars from the client hit the warm water. For a moment it must struggle to keep the other self at bay, but the other is weak and ruined; he does not have the strength the Shadow has anymore.

“Come on, let’s get you clean,” the Master says and, like a parent bathing his child, he goes about washing the Shadow. His face shows nothing but determination on the part of his task. He directs the Shadow to move in certain ways to lift its arm, to lean back as he washes his hair. In an awkward moment, he asks, “Did the man breach you at all?”

The Shadow turns away as red blossoms over its face. It shakes its head but cannot speak as the other claws at it, fighting for control. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” the Master says. “Which is good. We’ll find out what Janet thinks when we get to Georgia tomorrow. It shouldn’t be more than nine or ten hours. You up for a long drive tomorrow?”

The Shadow only smiles as the Master’s hands touch its body, cleaning it in a baptism of promises. The Master tells it he needs to rinse out the shampoo out of the I’s hair, and the Shadow follows his lead to go beneath the water’s surface. The Master watches the I for a moment, then with an abrupt motion slams his hand around its throat, and holds it under the water.

The I thrashes and kicks, but the Master seizes it with two hands to push it beneath the surface again. It gulps up water and bashes its hands against the Master’s arms as he forces it to stay under the water. The I curls around and kicks out at the Master, swinging its legs at him. The Shadow’s foot collides with his face and the Master tumbles backward, releasing it. It leaps up but the Master throws himself at the Shadow and they both fall into the tub. The Shadow hits its head against the tile but continues to grapple, its arms groping for purchase in order to get a hold of the Master’s neck.

The Master throws back his one hand and punches the Shadow in the injured side of its face. It drops into the water and the Master covers its mouth and nose with one hand and uses his other hand to form a choke hold. 

Dark tendrils creep along the edge of its vision, it pounds one last time against the Master’s arm but loses its grasp of consciousness and starts to plummet away. The world blackens and he calls out to Jack. No words issue forth – he only mouths – I’m Daniel – against Jack’s hand.

Jack waits a moment and it is almost too long as the tightness in his chest explodes and he feels the expanse of his lungs rebel. Heaving him out of the water, Jack stares at him and seems to study him.

Daniel coughs and spits up blood. He pushes Jack away and continues to clear his throat and lungs of water. He pukes up the water in a flood over his injured chest. With choked sobs, he manages to say, “Jack, Jack. I’m okay, I’m me again.”

Jack collapses back against the toilet; his eyes close and he shakes. Daniel leans over the edge of the tub, too spent and weary to try and clean the spit, blood and vomit from his chest. He covers his head with his arms and hates himself.

“You should’ve just let me shoot myself,” Daniel finally says.

Jack doesn’t reply; he keeps hands over his face as if he is battling something internal. Daniel throws some water against his chest to clean the mess away, and then climbs out of the bathtub. He pulls a towel down and uses it to dry Jack’s hair and shoulders. 

“Just promise me one thing,” Daniel says.

Jack looks up. His eyes are red and swollen. 

“Let me do it before it takes me. Let me do it,” Daniel pleads. He doesn’t want Jack to be tainted by this thing inside of him. He hopes Jack would allow him this one last wish.

Jack grimaces and says, “I can’t Daniel, there’s no way.”

Daniel falls back and sits on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. Naked and lost. “Then please promise me, you’ll do it. Don’t let it take me.”

Jack stares at him and they both know it is a vow they’ve made before with respect to the Goa’uld. This isn’t anything different. Daniel is possessed by something infecting his brain and he is losing the battle.

Jack only nods.

Daniel cries.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11 

…..Excerpt from the journal of Colonel Jonathan O’Neil…three days after his arrival in Georgia

Christ, I cannot even write down what the hell happened during the drive here. If hell is anything like that, dear Lord save me now. I can’t look at him, I can’t be in the same room with him. Fraiser wanted to give me a sedative when we arrived at the cabin. I refused, but you better believe I got damn well drunk and stayed that way for the next day or so. Fraiser wasn’t too happy with me, while I locked myself in the bedroom as far away from that thing as I could, she had to deal with it. Luckily, Carter and Murray arrived later than evening.

Instead of a nine – ten hour drive, it took us two fucking days. Two and a half if you count the fact that we drove up the gravel path at three freaking o’clock in the morning. By the time I swung open the door of the car, my fists hurt from clenching the steering wheel so tight, from hitting him so many times. Christ, I can’t tell the difference between the bruises he already had and the ones I gave him on the road. He’s a mess.

I’m a mess.

When we went to leave Florida, I got him dressed easy enough, got his shoes on. I had to stop at the local store to buy him some cheapo clothes. He just sat there and laughed at the shoes like he never saw anything so wonderful before. How fucking long has he been living homeless on the streets or worse? Shit, did they let him have any clothes at the whore house?

God, I can’t even think about that. I have to wipe it from my mind, but it is like trying to forget what happened to Kawalsky. Crap, it is the same thing, isn’t it? I’ve always prided myself on keeping Daniel safe from being snaked, but this is just the same. Some microscope type of possession designed by a fucking Goa’uld has taken him over. Maybe I should have…shit, I can’t think of it. But Kawalsky hated the idea, he wanted to be killed. 

Jesus, Daniel, what will I do if I can’t save you? If Fraiser fails? 

He spends his time trapped in an endless loop of self-loathing and destruction. The Shadow grows stronger with each minute of every hour. He cannot see the light, nor does he try. He knows this is the end for him. 

The car ride to the cabin is a blur of twisted memories. He knows Jack will never forgive him, never forgive himself. In the end, he had to urge Jack on, taunt him and goad him so that the ugliest side of Jack surfaced, the side of the Black Ops which he always tries to keep under cover now. But Daniel needed it, needed for Jack to be at the height of his darker side, so that he could survive against the I. 

He realizes then that the Shadow has sacrificed both of them. 

Janet is too loving, too nice to him even as she locks him in the room with bindings so tight they chaff at his skin. He lies on the bed and waits for the Shadow to take over, but it is not a predictable creature. It is a mischievous one, yet not the Cheshire cat. It has no intention of helping him, it only wants him gone. It waits for him to let his guard down. 

They’ve chained him to the bed; the shackles are not the leather bindings from the infirmary but more crudely made. It occurs to Daniel they must be used for animals. He is less than an animal now; he deserves little else.

The Shadow laughs.

He begs for it to surface, to get this over with. He wants relief. But the I knows, understands his friends are trying to help him. It lurks and torments him but does not truly take over. Janet has tended to the bruises, has taken care of his broken, torn flesh, but he is sure she cannot touch his mind. His mind has blown away, scattered like a million dandelion seeds on the wind. He is lost forever.

Within the torment, Janet believes in him. She speaks soft words of comfort but he shuns her. He doesn’t want her in the room; he wants it dark and lifeless. He longs for the void. He stares at the long shadows cast by the windows, watches the flickering of the shade tree outside the panes. He wonders what is beautiful and what is not. He dreams of being beaten. 

Jack does not visit him.

He knows why, though he mourns it. He understands he’s sacrificed his friend for his own sake. He’s asked the unthinkable and, now, he deserves nothing back. He shudders as he faces the fear of loss, of loneliness, of nothingness. At last, he gives into the abyss, the void of his own mind and releases the fight.

The I finally and completely takes over.

…..Excerpt Doctor Janet Fraiser’s medical notes

PATIENT NAME: Daniel Jackson, PhD.  
SYMPTOMS: schizophrenic delusions, masochistic tendencies, submissive needs, self-infected wounds

DIAGNOSIS: Alien possession

Doctor Jackson was infected with a retrovirus while condemned to the lowest rung of the Jajin prison on Pa’chen. During his time there, he was exposed at length to the creatures called the Shadows. The Shadows are a construct, a mutation of the human genome. Through use of retroviral packages, the genome at the germ cell level was reconfigured. This led to the creation of the Lay and the Shadows, a combined pair that cannot live without one another.

After considerable analysis of Doctor Jackson’s blood samples and spinal fluid samples first taken when he returned from Pa’chen, we discovered the retrovirus. From our in vitro and in vivo (through the use of the murine model) analysis the viral package does not have the ability to integrate within the genome of the patient, but it can through expression of its own proteins cause considerable neural damage within the cerebral cortex. These expressed proteins take over the cellular machinery of the neurons within the brain. This leads to the patient’s erratic behavior and seemingly split of the personality into Doctor Jackson and a self expressed as the Shadow or the I. 

Previous attempts to cure the split personality did not take into account the organic origin of the psychosis. The treatment, negative feedback therapy, essentially worsened the condition and further split the patient’s mind into the two distinct personalities. Doctor Jackson sought out masochistic treatment to keep the Shadow at bay, his only known defense. 

When he was presented to my care again, Doctor Jackson can be classified as two distinct beings. In order to cure the disease, we have one of two options, suppress the personality called the I and treat with anti-virals or we allow the two personalities to flourish and treat with anti-virals.

The earlier in a viral infection a virus is treated, the easier it is to eradicate. Daniel has been infected for some time. My only hope is that if we decrease the viral load we can get a head of it and treat with the anti-virals.

Several members of the SGC are here with me. We will attempt to keep the Shadow suppressed for as long as possible, with the only means we know.

Lord, help us. We’re going to torture him.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

…..Excerpt from journal entry – MAJ Samantha Carter

The Colonel was right, we had no idea what we were dealing with. It is horrible and ugly and I cannot even look at Daniel. He isn’t. He is some kind of creature. The way he holds himself and moves. It is like he is more than possessed. It is like his physical form has actually transformed. His eyes don’t even look the same. When I stare into those blue eyes, all I see is the beast lurking. 

Janet keeps me sane. She keeps telling me it is an effect of the infection, just like a swelling or burn or any other ailment. Once the treatment takes hold, we will free Daniel of this thing and say goodbye to this nightmare. I can’t see it that way. It has affected us all.

The Colonel is drinking. Heavily. I know I shouldn’t write it down, I know I should just ignore it. But he has been the sole person over the last few days who has been in charge of this charade of treatment. He commanded we all take turns beating Daniel. He even found me a branch from one of the trees. He told me to use it. I asked him if he was drunk. He looked at me with bleary eyes and told me – of course, how the hell do you expect me to get through this fucking week? 

So, it is my turn to hit him. How do I hit him? How do I beat him while he is tied to the bed? Should I just go in there and swing as if he is my enemy or should I recognize that he is Daniel? My colleague, my friend, my family. 

This is a nightmare..........................................................................

 

 

In the very near distance, Daniel watches them fight for his soul. He is but an observer. His eyes see, his ears hear but he cannot control this being, this creature he inhabits. He thinks of it as the other now, the Shadow's body. As a passenger in the possessed body, Daniel no longer fights for control. He realizes the people around him are begging him to battle, are urging him to combat the thing that has taken over his actions, his body, his mind. He sees no use in trying to continue since he always loses in the end. Since the Shadow comes back, stronger and more determined every time.

Sam doesn't have it in her to hurt him. She tries, but her attempts are weak. It isn't that she is a woman, he knows this fact. He has seen her as the warrior and knows she can be brutal. But when she enters the room, she is quiet and looks at him with an expression of guilt and pain. The Shadow taunts her, and even that cannot get her to swing the rod in her hand. She cannot do it. 

Finally, it is Teal'c and Jack who must shoulder the responsibilities of subduing the Shadow. It laughs at them and continues to berate them as they try to crack the shell in which Daniel hides. They take turns. Each turn fiercer than the last with their growing frustration. He doesn't know who is responsible for it when it happens. His grip on reality blinks in and out as the creature has control of what he is able to see and observe. He hears it first; then the pain is astonishing in its brilliance. It rolls through him like a vibration breaking the sound barrier. He screams and curls his body against the pain, but that only worsens it.

The crack resonates in the air like an aftershock as the pain pounds through his leg and up his spine. He howls and cries out for help. Jack is there by his side and he wonders if it was his hands on his leg, twisting, holding, breaking it. He cannot come to terms with how they did it, how their bare hands were on his leg to shatter bone.

"Daniel? Daniel?" Jack says, his face is strained with worry and something else - something like grief.

"Jack," Daniel sputters the words through the onslaught of pain. He thinks he might be sick and starts to gag.

"Get me a pail, a bucket, anything!" Jack yells and Sam is by his side holding a bowl as he vomits.

A wet cloth is placed over the back of his neck as he dry heaves into the bowl for a few more minutes. His eyeballs pulsate with each gag and he cannot hold back the tears from streaming down his face. Even a slight movement jars his leg and the pain overwhelms him again. 

"Let me at least stabilize his leg," Janet is saying. Daniel cannot see her, he sees nothing but red bleeding from the walls, from his face, from everyone around him.

"Teal'c, stop her," Jack says and the Jaffa stands in front of the doctor and does not let her have access to her patient. "You can't until we're sure. You have to believe me on this one, he has to be Daniel and not that thing."

The heaving has eased and Daniel shivers from the cold of shock. They place a blanket over him but he cries out as it touches his leg. No one lifts it from him; they leave it there to torment him. Sam turns her back and stares out the window into the heavy forest surrounding the cabin. He wonders if she feels the darkness hidden there, the darkness sliding through the trees and into him.

"Daniel," Jack says as he places a hand on his face. "You with me?"

Sweat mixes with tears as he gazes into his friend's face and realizes the Shadow has sunk back into the recesses of his mind. It has released its hold on him. He nods and whispers, "Yes, I'm here." He shifts the broken leg and grinds his teeth against the rising scream in his throat. "Don't set it," he says through a groan. "Leave it."

Jack nods. "I promise. We're not going to treat it until we get that thing out of your head."

“Colonel, not setting his leg may have disastrous consequences for his future mobility,” Janet replies as she attempts to see him over the bulk of Teal’c. It is ludicrous to watch the petite woman try to topple the wall that is Teal’c.

“Setting it now will damn him to a life of insanity. Pick your poison, doctor,” Jack says and Daniel hears a curse whisper from his lips as he starts to tie Daniel’s legs and arms back to the frame of the bed. 

Sam comes alive and attends Janet. “Come on Janet, you need to prep the intravenous line and get him dosed, don’t you?” 

“We should do a viral titer, but without the proper equipment, we’ll just have to hope that the virus drops precipitously once the Shadow has been subdued,” Janet says as she begins to dig through her bag. She is setting out supplies as Sam works to rig up a support and line for her. 

His body quakes as the shock overcomes him and he clenches his teeth with the jerk of his leg. It is then he glimpses the mallet leaning against the bed and realizes it is this that they used to break his lower left leg. He wonders if he will ever walk again, or if it will matter.

Teal’c has replaced Jack at his side. Daniel hadn’t seen Jack leave and when he asks Teal’c about him, the Jaffa bows his head and says, “O’Neill must find a way to deal with what has occurred. He is much troubled by the part he has had to play in your treatment.”

He swallows but it is hard because the spit is thick in his throat. The pain radiates up his calf and into his thigh. He can feel the skin stretch as the wound swells and suffuses with blood and bruises. He wants to apologize for all that he has put them through, but he cannot. What can he possibly say? The wounds and injuries marking his body display for his team, his family that he is not their Daniel anymore. He is only a stranger and he mourns his fact. As he tries to settle himself, the urge to vomit increases and he coughs.

Teal’c is there to help him lean forward and gag into the bowl again. Sam holds down his arm as Janet starts the intravenous line. Her hands shake as she touches him. He glances at the two women and he sees both hurt and comfort there. 

“Don’t. No pain meds,” Daniel says.

“No,” Janet says, though her expression belies how she hates that she cannot ease his suffering. “I’m giving you some fluids, some electrolytes and glucose. Then we’ll start you on the anti-virals. Hopefully, in twenty four hours, we’ll see some improvement.”

“Twenty four hours?” Daniel gulps down the pain as he rides out another wave. “It’ll take that long?”

“At least,” Janet says with a nod as she injects the port.

“That’s too long. It’ll come back.” Daniel moans but low under his breath and hopes they cannot hear it. He is not sure if he cries for the pain or for the understanding this will not work.

“You have a broken leg which could kill you in the next twenty four hours, Daniel. I’m sure it will be enough,” Janet replies as she hands the empty syringe to Sam.

“If it is not, DanielJackson, I assure you that I will personally see to it that your other leg is broken as well,” Teal’c says. His vow is stated with serious gravity but it makes Daniel want to laugh. He feels like he walked into a novel by Stephen King. 

“No, you won’t,” Jack interrupts his thoughts as he walks back into the room. “If anyone is going to be responsible for this, it’ll be me.” He has a bottle of whiskey in his hand and he slings himself into a chair opposite the bed. There is a look of unexpressed anger and hatred in his eyes. Daniel inhales a breath both in fear and in anticipation. 

“Go,” Jack commands. The team looks at Daniel for a moment, but each leaves. Sam gives him a quick pat on the shoulder while Teal’c bows. Janet checks him once and nods, then follows the others out.

The door closes behind them.

Daniel gulps down a breath and says, “If this doesn’t work?”

“I have two bullets.”

“Two?”

“What you think you get all the fun?” Jack takes a swig of the whiskey. “One for you and one for me.”

Daniel says nothing but stares into oblivion as he listens to the laughter in this head.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13  
……..Excerpt from the private journal of Dr. Janet Fraiser

The cabin used to have such wonderfully warm memories for me, now those have faded as I think of what happened there. Just watching Teal’c and Colonel O’Neill break Daniel’s leg still turns my stomach. I can still hear I, snapping. Watching the Colonel drink himself into oblivion as Daniel wavered between that thing and himself caused such anguish throughout the team and I was not immune. 

The Shadow kept reappearing, fighting its way to the surface. Teal’c and the Colonel had to beat it back. The cries echo in my head still. I think Sam nearly lost it at one point. I had to hold her as we listened to the screams, Daniel’s screams. When I finally went into the room, both Teal’c and Colonel were covered in sweat and panting from their exertions. Daniel was another story entirely. His face was blotched and streaked with blood. His nose was bleeding and he’d bitten through his lip. The Shadow receded and Daniel was pleading with me to give him more of the medicine. This scene was repeated time and again.

Sam asked the Colonel if she could sit with Daniel but he refused. He told her Daniel didn’t deserve her pity or her love. It hurt to see her eyes and to see his cruelty. I know he said it because Daniel was lying within earshot. Daniel had to be hurt, physically, emotionally to keep his villain under control. Still the Colonel didn’t have to be so cruel, not to Sam. She told me it was okay, it was the alcohol talking. 

As their doctor I can only hope that this is true. But I cannot truly say so as their friend. This is breaking them, shattering their core. How could it not, when Daniel is the fulcrum of their family? 

 

He looks down at his hands, they are smooth and untouched. There are no scars. He doesn't drop his gaze to his wrists; wrists long ago burned by electric currents to hurt him. He doesn't look at his torso, a torso traversed with a map of his journey. The lines whisper to him at night, grow out of him in the darkness to entwine about his body so that he is smothered by the nightmare they offer.   
He shifts in his chair and waits as the dawn creeps through the window. How long has it been? Three days? Three weeks? How long has it been since the cabin and the day when he last had friends, family. He shivers and thinks he might want to sleep, but sleeping means dreaming and like Hamlet ghosts follow him there. 

He considers what his long time companions did for him, their sacrifice. He knows that through their sacrifice he has been saved, but he also recognizes that the same sacrifice has torn asunder the friendship and love that existed. How could they look at him and think of him as anything but less. He is less than their friend, less than their brother, less than Daniel Jackson. He is less than human.

He gulps back the bile threatening at the edge of his throat. Blinking, he pushes away the tears and knows he has to accept who he is now and what he has become. The Shadow is gone but he wonders what it left him? He is no Peter Pan looking for his wayward shade, but a worn thin character beaten and broken by his very own dark side within his soul.

He has to come to terms that the Shadow fed on his most base needs; the fact that he is little more than dirt, a whore, an addict. He should have known better; he's fallen victim to his needs before the examples are there. The sarcophagus, Hathor. He slips out of the bed and reaches for his crutches.

Technically he is not supposed to be walking unassisted but he doesn't give a shit. He needs a shower.  
He limps over to the bathroom and shuffles into the small room. He turns on the water and lets it warm to a clean hot steam. Leaning against the door, he strips himself but tries not to look at the scars, the welts. He pulls on the plastic bag over his cast on his leg and secures it. He enters the shower and lets the rain of water try and wash away his filth.

He scrubs away at the jagged lines, the leftovers of his addiction. The water fails to cleanse him. The rite of baptism is one he does not deserve. He cannot be reborn. His life is stained and ruined from what it once was. He teeters in the shower and thinks about why he is even trying. His weakness, his ruination has been on display for everyone to witness.

Turning off the faucets, he stands in the shower and lets the cold air seep in around him. He lets the chill open up his soul and freeze his pain away. The Shadow no longer lurks, no longer offers a place to hide. He leans against the wet tile. By the time he moves, his leg is stiff and fighting him. He groans through the pain as he shifts out of the shower and moves to the bench. He tears open the plastic bag. His doctor will scold him for getting his cast wet. He shrugs. Who the hell cares?

He does try to towel it dry. Pulling on some clothes, he makes his way to the small bathroom mirror. There is a disposable razor sitting on the shelf. He has no idea who brought it to him. He hasn't seen Jack in over a week. He closes his eyes and tells himself not to say the name, none of their names. He can't say them, can't think them. If he does, they become real and everything he has gone through - what he has put them through becomes real. 

His hands tremble as he picks up the razor. He eyes himself in the mirror. The hollows of his eyes, the long sunken shallows of his face remind him of the skull beneath the surface.  
He thinks for a minute and wishes he had a straight edge razor. If he did, he considers the slash across his carotid. How easy it would be to bleed out in less than five minutes, but then he thinks of their sacrifice. How they traded everything to save him, to fix him. But he knows he is not fixable, he is broken and missing pieces. He is like a toy, too old to be useful, too precious to toss. 

He throws down the razor without using it. Running a hand over the stubble, he tries to feel his way to understanding this existence, this body, this life. He grips the edge of the sink. Breathe in and breathe out, he tells himself. He lets the air flow and move his chest. Somehow it sweeps away the atmosphere deep inside of him, the pressing poison.

It takes several minutes before he realizes someone is behind him, asking him if he is okay. He swallows but it is difficult and sliced with raw sharp edges. He nods but says nothing. It takes a few more minutes before he realizes the person behind him is General Hammond.

"Come on, son, let's get you back to your room," Hammond says, offering him a hand with his crutches and ushering him to the main part of his residence at the assisted living apartment he now occupies.   
Hammond comes to visit him in the mornings since he was transfer by military flight to Colorado, back home. Something in his stomach coils at the thought, does he really have a home?

"I brought some of that fancy coffee you like." Hammond lifts a bag and shows it to him. 

He smiles, but it cracks open his face and he feels the blood rush away. He sits in the chair and waits as Hammond moves around the small apartment. He has been confined to the assisted living residence for the past four weeks as he goes through rehabilitation. He knows he should be grateful that the Air Force came to his rescue; they are footing the bill to fix his leg. His other health issues from the pneumonia he developed to the mental depression is all being paid for by the defense department. He is sure Kinsey hates him.

Hammond places the coffee on the small kitchen table and asks, "Do you want some breakfast?"

He shakes his head and sips the coffee. It tastes like dirt and metal in his mouth. It takes a moment before Hammond settles in the chair opposite him and starts to talk. "They want to see you, son." He glares at the General and the older man raises his hand. "I know you don't want to see them. But you do realize that how you got in this mess in the first place? You're a smart man, son, one of the smartest I know, but you sure aren't acting like it. You need them here."

He holds the cup and the coffee sloshes with the tremor in his hands. "Not yet," he whispers. The images of Jack standing over him, twisting his already fractured leg to push the Shadow away cover his vision. He recalls how Jack’s face pressed against his, how his spit hit his face. 

“You are not doing this, Daniel,” Jack had said. “I am so fucking sick of you defying me. You got yourself into this God damned situation because you wouldn’t listen to me. You had to find out about the fucking Shadows. Now, they got you, it has you.”

“Get off of me,” Daniel screamed back. He had no way to resist or fight Jack. His wrists were tied down; his one leg was a mess. He couldn’t move the other without causing the injured bone to rebel and screech in pain. “Get the hell off of me.”

Jack grabbed his face and squeezed his jaw, twisting it. “You are going to fight this thing. You understand me. That’s a fucking order and for once in your life you are going to listen.”

He heard Janet in the background asking Jack to stop, that another dose of the anti-virals was due. Jack forced Daniel to beg for the next treatment, to promise to follow his orders. Jack slumped in the chair next to the bed as Janet inserted the syringe into the intravenous line. 

“They want to see you, son.” Hammond plays with the paper cup. “You’re important to them.”

Daniel looks away. “I know that. But I can’t, not right now.”

The General stands and straightens his jacket. “Take care now. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“You don’t have to come back,” Daniel whispers.

“No, I don’t.” Hammond glances out the small window then back to Daniel. “They’re treating you well?”

The assisted living quarters is a rehabilitation center for the wounded warriors. It is little known to the outside world since it is a secret secure facility. Wounded from secret missions are brought here to heal. There is little talk in the common rooms and no one asks questions. The only discussions revolve around the television, the games available to play and little else. Daniel spends most of his time in his rooms. 

“Fine.”

Hammond moves to the door and starts to open it. He stops and looks back at Daniel. “Let them come, soon.”

He purses his lips as he considers the General, but finally nods. 

He doesn’t know how long he can pretend, how long he can allow the General to keep coming to visit him. The Shadow no longer exists, but neither does this Daniel. He has come to realize what happened to him has reveal the ugliness underneath his skin. It is something no one wants to see, but everyone has. He has sacrificed his friends to try and cover it up again. But it will never be completely concealed. He has lost his way. While they saved the flesh of Daniel Jackson, they could never save his soul. His soul has always been tainted with vile blemishes. 

He is an addict. He smiles though it hurts. At least he can admit it. That’s the first step. He looks at his broken leg. A first step, but he wonders if he can take the next.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

……Excerpt from the first draft of Doctor Daniel Jackson’s memoir, present day 

This is the story of how Colonel Jack O’Neill saved my life, my soul and my dignity. My team had sacrificed everything to find me and bring me home again. They saved me from an illness of both the body and mind. My convalesces was difficult and slow, I refused to see them for weeks at a time. I thought they could not understand my loss, my discovery.

Jack knew, understood. He may have understood long before I did. During those long tormented nights in that cabin in Georgia as he watched me from the rocker across the room and I cursed him, he knew. He sipped his beer and stayed silent as the devil possessed me.

I am not supposed to believe in the devil, or God. I am a scientist, a man of reason. Yet, I have seen so much that is not reasonable in this universe. I have seen the images of gods, and the devil. I have seen more than any one man should. I have been inflicted with the worst and the best man has to offer. The devil haunts me, though, and Jack kept a steady eye on me while I suffered.

When I would not see him for weeks, he remained patient and let me have my solitude. He stood his ground and waited for me to come to terms with what he already comprehended. Jack is smarter than he acts. I was set to be released from the assisted living rehab center, and he knocked on my door ready to usher me to my new life. I had little possessions and no home. He smiled and said nothing. It all reminded me of those last pitiful days of my academic career. He brought me to his home, showed me my room and only said, stay. 

And I did....................................

…….Excerpt from the private journal of Samantha Carter, present day

I mourn the loss of our team, our past, but I mourn the loss of Daniel the most. He has not been reinstated into the SGC; he is considered too much of a risk now. His mental stability has been questioned and there is no real hope that he will be able to join an off-world team again. The blow must have been shattering for Daniel, but he holds it well inside of him. He talks of other things, but never of the work he so loved. Currently, the powers that be banned him from entering the Mountain. Oh but they understand that Daniel is a security risk. They have a detail on him at all times. The Colonel nearly blew a gasket when he found out they were staking out his house since Daniel moved in. At least they now leave them alone. They granted Daniel a lifetime allowance.

The Colonel looks tired most days, but doesn’t say anything about it. While the pressure of having to deal with the situation seems to wear on him, there is part of me that seems he is content. He wants to help Daniel. These two are so entwined in each other’s lives – it is scary somehow. I just wish…I wish Daniel finds some peace........

 

In time, he finds his way around the garden like a master. He spends hours researching on line what is the best deterrence for different rose bush diseases and what he can honestly do about the dry weather and the annuals he planted. While he wants the flora to reflect the natural surroundings of Colorado, he cannot help sowing exotic plants here and there in the backyard. 

He likes sitting on the edge of the deck and staring out into the sea of green speckled with color. It has become his soul’s resting place. He hears the truck pull up the drive way and reaches for his cane to hoist himself up. He thumps along the wooden planks and smiles when he thinks he might spend the next month or so re-staining them. That would be a good project.

Entering the house, Daniel blinks to wash away the after images of the setting sun. Jack follows him. He’s doesn’t say much, he never talks about the job or what is happening at the SGC. Daniel doesn’t ask. He surprises himself because he doesn’t want to know. He loves to hear about Sam and about Teal’c, everyone. Of course, they all visit because Daniel is no longer welcome at the Mountain. There should have been a pang, a hurt in his heart, his soul when he realized his life’s work had been taken away from him. He finds only that he has an emptiness, a void where he should hurt. Janet tells him he is still in shock, still getting over the horrors of the last year. He lets her have her theories. Janet has always been loving and sweet as a physician and friend. She would never understand the monster that lurks within his tainted soul is not some alien Shadow or some virus, but has been a part of him. It is something he has denied for years.

Jack comes out of his bedroom and nods to Daniel. The dinner is already cooked and the smells of light summer fare filter through the room. Jack might scowl at his attempt to get him to eat better, but Daniel doesn’t care. An occasional dinner of salmon is not going to kill him or decrease his masculinity at all. Jack takes it in stride now. He knows Daniel has little to occupy his mind; he can no longer research for the government has forbidden him from his livelihood. He cannot even teach archeology or anthropology on line. They conceded the permission for him to teach simple language classes like Spanish, French, English as a second language. 

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Daniel says. He insists he has to earn his keep somehow. He has to pay Jack back for all he has sacrificed, all he still sacrifices. 

His hands shake as he finishes the salad. He chops up the last of the cucumber and stares at the knife. He sees his reflection in the long sleek blade. It warps from the slant of the blade and he plays with it back and forth. He lifts the blade up and watches himself in the mirrored image. He wonders if that person on the other side of the mirror has defeated his demons. He wonders if he ever will.

“Everything all right?” Jack asks as he perches at the entrance to the kitchen.

Daniel puts down the knife and says, “Yes, just finishing up. Set the table outside?”

“Sure thing,” Jack agrees and starts gathering the plates, utensils, napkins. “Want a beer?”

Daniel shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

Jack’s shoulders deflate a degree but he nods, acknowledging the inevitable. He leaves to set the table on the deck. It is a warm night, the scene of jasmine from the garden pots is heavy on the deck. Placing all the salmon, the rolls, the salad on a tray with some of Jack’s favorite dressing, Daniel joins him on the deck.

They settle in to eat and it is a pleasant evening. They pretend the night isn’t holding the nightmare that awaits them. It is beautiful, serene, even too picturesque to break apart with the truth of who he is, what he has become. They’ve learned to never talk about it. 

Jack tells a few stories about Teal’c that evening. He leaves out the details of the planets he visited or the enemies they fight. While Daniel doesn’t long to return to the SGC anymore, he still wishes he could support his friends, his family. Occasionally, he sighs as Jack omits the important details of the day. After the meal, Daniel cleans up with Jack’s help and then goes to shower. He knows that Jack takes this opportunity to sneak ice cream or some other not so healthy dessert. It makes him laugh a little.

It takes a while to shower; his leg will never be the same. Once he towels off and slips on a pair of boxers and a bathrobe, Daniel joins Jack in the living room. He doesn’t enter the room but hangs back and waits.

This is the twilight of the day, when day and night exist at the same time, when the universe fights itself for balance and loses each time. It only takes moments for the day to finally surrender to the night, and thus it will only take a short amount of time for them to walk down the dark paths of the soul.

Jack turns and sees he is in the partial shade of the hallway. “I hate this.”

Daniel thinks he should stop asking Jack.

“Don’t even think about it, Daniel. You know I’m here for you. You know I signed on for a reason.”

Daniel recalls that they are both men of reason. He laughs a low and mirthless sound. 

“It’s getting better,” Jack offers.

“Is it?”

“You don’t ask as often; it doesn’t last as long,” Jack notes. He stands and places the beer on the side table. Daniel notices there are three empty bottles already on the table. He flinches.

He knows Jack is wrong; that there are other ways to solve his problems, his desires. He also knows that Jack is aware of what he does to relieve the situation, that he monitors Daniel’s ‘self-medicating’. 

“Come on, then,” Jack says and grasps his arm and ushers him into Daniel’s room. 

Daniel has laid out everything with precision on the bed. He takes off his robe and gets onto the bed. He takes the chain looped over the headboard and cuffs his wrists into the locks. He grips the headboard, turns his face away from Jack and nods.

There is a moment’s hesitation, as there always is. He knows Jack is surveying the old scars, making sure there are no new scars. It will only take a few lashes, a few screams before Daniel is satisfied, before the shaking in his gut calms. He hears Jack pick up the riding crop. Jack beats back his demons while sacrificing his own soul.

He is the perfect sacrifice.

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES: I want to apologize for this ending. No matter what I tried I could not fix Daniel and have the story stay real. This Daniel is broken, in many ways beyond repair. But Jack is there to save him. I hope everyone enjoyed the journey of this story. Your feedback on this ending is much appreciated.


End file.
